


The Hand of the King

by righteousbros



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Supernatural RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Game of Thrones Fusion, Arya Stark!Jensen, Blood and Torture, Crossover, Gendry Waters!Jared, Historical Fantasy, J2/Gendrya Crossover, M/M, Minor Character Death, Past Underage Sex, References to Minor Character Non-con, Series Spoilers, Suicidal Thoughts, Switching, Underage Kissing, Underage Sex, Violence, past dubious consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-04
Updated: 2014-06-18
Packaged: 2018-01-11 03:22:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 22
Words: 84,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1168059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/righteousbros/pseuds/righteousbros
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Games of Thrones (Gendrya) / J2 Crossover - Jensen is the son of Ned Stark, the disgraced Lord of Winterfell and former Hand of the King.  While fleeing King Joffrey's soldiers who mean to take him captive, Jensen encounters Jared; a rough lowborn boy who as it turns out is also wanted by the devious House Lannister clan and their minions although he doesn't know why.  The two of them form a fast friendship as they do their best to survive in a land that is torn apart by war.  They can't trust anyone but each other and gradually their bond develops into something much deeper.  Soon even that becomes uncertain as Jensen is consumed by his mission of revenge for all the pain and suffering that has befallen House Stark at the hands of their enemies.  Jared tries to bring Jensen back from the brink of destruction but the future for both of them is uncertain as powerful opposing forces try to use each of them as pawns in their game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This crossover fic is an amalgam of GOT and ASOIAF canon that sticks pretty close to the story initially (including a few shameless direct quotes of show dialogue) that eventually will take a turn for the AU and follow it's own path so be prepared for that. Effort has been made to make this story accessible to anyone who is unfamiliar with the GOT/ASOIAF world. Obviously it would probably help to at least have a basic working knowledge of it, but if not it hopefully shouldn't be too hard to figure things out as you go. On the topic of the age difference/underage stuff - most girls in this world get married/become sexually active as soon as they're old enough to menstruate just to put it in context. For this reason I don't consider the early relationship between Jared and Jensen in this story to be dub/con or morally questionable, so I hope it's read in it's intended light.

 

**  
**

Blood.  There was just so much blood. 

Yoren tried to shield him from the worst of it, but when the older man turned to push him back through the excited crowd, Jensen couldn’t stop himself from glancing back at the platform where his father’s body was slumped forward.  It was the briefest of looks, but he saw it all.  His sister Sansa, pale as death.  Her face frozen in horror.  The easy stride of Ilyn Payne stepping back from his handiwork.  King Joffrey’s satisfied smirk.  And the great pool of blood that swept away his father’s life.

Jensen felt like the world was spiraling away from him.  His mind couldn’t register what was happening.  Yoren’s firm grasp on his arms was the only thing preventing him from shattering into a million pieces as he was rushed away. 

A great numbness threatened to swallow him whole.  He followed Yoren like a mindless puppet as he was shuttled through a maze of passageways leading into the depths of the castle.  No one seemed to pay them any mind.  The thought flitted across his brain that perhaps he had died in that square as well. 

Yoren’s voice in his ear sounded like it was coming from underwater.  He stood stone-still as Yoren grabbed fistfuls of his hair and began to cut.  He watched the dark blonde strands hit the tile floor at his feet but he didn’t cry.  There was nothing inside him but the numbness. 

“Orphan” Yoren called him over and over as he chopped off Jensen’s hair.  The silky tresses that once curled past his ears were shorn off, leaving him with the close-cropped scalp favored by the street children of King’s Landing who were so often plagued by lice.

Jensen’s brow furrowed with confusion as Yoren continued to bark at him.  “I’m not an orphan!” he shouted frustratedly, surprising himself as much as Yoren.  His mother was still alive as far as he knew, praise the gods.  Safe back in Winterfell with his younger brothers Bran and Rickon.

Yoren dismissed his outburst and continued his task.  When he’d finished, he gave Jensen a peasant’s tunic and breeches to wear.  Then he thrust Jensen’s thin sword, Needle, into a plain leather sheath on the boy’s belt.  “You’re Jendry now.  Jendry the orphan boy.”  Yoren made him repeat it as he lead him out through the back-alleyways of the keep and into the sunlight.

There a wagon was being loaded by a haphazard group of men and young boys.  All of them were filthy and stinking of the jails that Yoren had collected them from.  “They’re for the Wall,” Yoren informed him, “And you’re to go with them. 

A highborn boy like Jensen could never travel with such dangerous men and remain unscathed but a lowborn orphan from the streets would blend right in.  Jensen didn’t reply to Yoren’s warnings but let himself be dragged forward, past three men locked in a jail cart. 

Yoren released his vise-like grip on Jensen and walked on towards the wagon without a backward glance as if the Stark heir was just another orphan runt in his charge. 

Jensen passed by the caged men, wondering what they could have done to distinguish them as dangerous enough to be locked up like animals amidst a company of such dangerous men.  With his head turned and his attention distracted, he accidentally bumped into one of the other boys.

“Watch yerself, midget!” the boy shouted, pushing Jensen backwards.  The other boy was quite round, his face like a ball of dough with hard little eyes glinting with mischief. 

“He’s got a sword this one,” said another skinny boy with stringy blond hair.  They circled him like carrion birds.  “What’s a gutter-rat like you doing with a sword?” 

Together the two bullies pushed Jensen down, threatening to kill him if he didn’t hand it over.  When he hit the ground the numbness inside him splintered away, leaving only rage.  Before the fat boy realized what was happening, Jensen was on his feet and had Needle at his throat. 

“You want it?  I’ll give it to you!” Jensen shouted at him.  He was nearly vibrating with anger as he stalked forward, holding the sword’s tip just under the bully’s soft chin.

The larger boy backed away - straight into the broad chest of dark-haired man.

“You like picking on the little ones, do ya?” the man said to Jensen’s bully with disgust.  His voice resonated with the lilt of the lowborn Common Tongue and the strong line of his jaw was accented with what looked like several days growth of scruff.  He moved forward purposefully as the fat boy scrambled away from him in fear. 

Jensen watched intently as the tall stranger hovered menacingly over his tormentor. 

“You know, I’ve been hammering an anvil these past ten years.”  The young man towered over the bully as he advanced on him with a clear threat of violence in his tone.  “When I hit that steel it _sings_.  You gonna sing when I hit you?” 

Too terrified to respond, the fat boy and his blonde friend scattered.  Jensen continued watching the young man warily with Needle still clenched in his hand, ready to fight if he were to be threatened next.

The man looked down at Jensen with eyes the color of a lake in winter.  Their steady gaze calmed Jensen’s ire somewhat, but he didn’t drop his guard for an instant. 

Noticing Jensen’s sword, the blue-eyed giant bent down and lifted the flat of the blade up in the palm of his hand to inspect it.  “This is castle-forged steel.  Where’d you steal it?”

“It was a gift,” Jensen said indignantly.  He pulled the sword away, afraid of it being taken away from him. 

The young man leaned back at Jensen’s recoil but he kept his feet planted where they were, not giving up ground.  “It don’t matter now.  Where we’re going, it don’t matter what you’ve done.  We’ve got rapists, pickpockets, highwaymen, murderers…”

“Which are you?”

The man blinked at Jensen’s bold question.  “Armorer’s apprentice,” he said.  He paused, mulling something over in his head.  “But my master got sick of me, so here I am.” 

Jensen saw him as he was then for the first time.  Not a man really, not yet.  A very large, very lonely boy with sad eyes. 

“Come on you sorry sons of whores!” Yoren bellowed as he climbed into the driver’s seat of the wagon.  With a wide wave of his arm he signaled the company forward.

At the sound of Yoren’s call, Jensen sheathed his sword and the tall boy turned to gather his belongings.  They fell in with a line of men walking towards the wagon where Yoren was shouting to his crew.  “It’s a thousand leagues from here to the Wall!” he said.  “And Winter is coming.”

The wagon and carts lurched forward with the men and boys trailing behind.  As their caravan passed through the outer gates of the city, Jensen spared one last look behind him at Kings Landing.  He said a silent prayer in his heart for his father, his mother and brothers away in the North, and his sister Sansa who was still a prisoner of Joffrey and the Lannister family.  

Jensen ended his prayer with an oath.  An oath of revenge. 

~~~

Trudging through the mud behind the wagon, Jared could feel the cold and damp seeping into his bones.  He’d give anything to be back in the suffocating heat of Tobho Mott’s forge.  Thinking of the grizzled old codger made him grimace.  Mott had been the only constant in his life since his mother died.  And when Yoren had come round and spoken to Mott, he had handed Jared over to him without a moment’s hesitation or any explanation whatsoever.  The cold dismissal had hurt more than he wanted to admit. Mott wasn't his kin but he was the closest thing to it that Jared had left.

Jared was a bastard son who had no family or house sigil of his own, but he carried with him a helm he had fashioned himself in the shape of a bull’s head.  It symbolized strength and determination.  The other armorers had taken notice of it and had begun to call him The Bull.  Mott had always told him that he was as stubborn as a bull so the name suited him fine.

Now he was on his way to the Wall to join the Night’s Watch, a monastic brotherhood sworn to protect the northernmost border of Westeros from the threat of Wildling invaders.  For street trash like him it was his best chance at a life with purpose.  Even so, Jared felt out of place with the other men he traveled with.  At six-and-ten years he was as big as they were.  Bigger than some, and strong.  The hammer he had swung everyday in the forge had seen to that.  But he did not share their lust for combat.  He only hoped they would let him make their armor and not force him to wear it.  He had no desire to go chase after the savage Wildlings in the great frozen North. 

The other boys traveling with their party were smaller than he was and some were still very much children.  They looked to him for what to do whenever the caravan stopped to make camp.  Jared kept to himself though.  He was quiet by nature and wasn’t the kind to use ten words when one would do.  Besides that, he didn’t want to get to know the others.  He knew many of them wouldn’t last long when they reached the Wall if the stories about the harsh conditions there were true. 

For several days they traveled the Kingsroad, walking all day and sleeping on the hard ground at night.  It was the first time Jared had been outside the city walls in many years.  The bully boys he confronted on their last day in Kings Landing - the fat boy who was called Hot Pie and his yellow-haired friend Lommy - continued to talk big about how tough they were but they never dared bother him.  They knew better than to try that again. 

They left the little one alone as well - Jendry.  Jared felt the younger boy’s eyes on him often but he tried to ignore it.  Better not make friends with him, Jared told himself.  One so small and slight as Jendry would certainly be the first to go when winter came.

Then one day while gathering wood for the camp fire, Jared came walking up nearby the prisoner’s cart to see Jendry shouting back and forth with one of the captive men.  He saw the prisoner reach out with threatening fist.  Jendry grabbed a stick and beat it against the bars, fending off the prisoner’s angry grabs.  Shaking his head, Jared approached with his load of wood.  The little brat seemed determined to find trouble.

“Yoren said none of us were to go near those three,” he commented evenly as he passed between the cart and Jendry, interrupting the argument. 

“They don’t scare me,” Jendry claimed, following Jared away from the prisoners.

“Really?  Then you’re stupid,” he tossed back.  “They scare me.”

Suddenly, Jared could hear the sound of riders approaching the camp.  As they rode closer, he saw that they were Goldcloaks from King’s Landing - soldiers for hire in service to the queen and her family, House Lannister. Jared didn’t know why they were there but he didn’t think it could be good.  Jendry saw them too and immediately tensed like cornered prey, dropping down underneath a small wooden footbridge that stretched over a nearby trench.  Jared set the firewood down and crouched low on top of the bridge, shooting a questioning look to Jendry.

“What are you doing?” he whispered.

“They’re looking for me,” came Jendry’s frightened reply.

The lead rider pulled his mount to a halt in front of Yoren and handed him a roll of parchment.  A royal warrant. 

Yoren seemed unfazed by the news.  “I don’t care a fig for what your bit of paper says,” he informed the man.  “My boys are under the protection of the Night’s Watch and I will see them to their post.” 

Jared saw the Goldcloak reach for his sword, but Yoren was quicker.  He held a dagger high on the man’s thigh, where a flick of the wrist could bleed him dry in minutes.  The Goldcloak froze and Yoren calmly relieved him of his sword.  “I advise you ser, to return to Kings Landing and report back that you and your men didn’t find who you were looking for.”

Ignoring Yoren’s threat, the Goldcloak looked past him towards the rest of the camp.  “We’re looking for a boy named Jared,” he called out.  “He carries a bull’s head helmet.  Anyone who turns him over to us will earn the King’s reward.”

Jared startled at the sound of his name but quickly looked down, trying in vain to make himself as small as possible so as not to be noticed.  Why in the Seven Hells were these men after him?  He held his breath waiting for someone to give him up but no response came.

“We’ll be back with more men.” the leader said glaring at Yoren.  “And I’ll be taking your head home along with that bastard boy.”

The Goldcloaks road off and Yoren stowed his dagger, muttering curses under his breath.

Jared stood up slowly when he was sure they had gone. 

Jendry climbed up from out of the trench and just stared wide-eyed at him.  

Not knowing what to say, Jared turned and headed back into the woods, wanting to get as far away from the road as possible.  He busied his hands collecting more wood as his mind raced.  He was no one.  Just a common bastard.  Why did they want him?  How did anyone in the Red Keep of House Lannister come to know his name, nevermind sign out a warrant for his capture?  He’d met the occasional knight or minor lord when they came to buy armor, but not one of them ever gave him a second look or had the influence to make this sort of thing happen.  Except for maybe the Hand of the King, but he had only met Lord Stark once and Jared had no quarrel with him.  Besides, word was that the stoic lord of Winterfell was dead.

Jared carried the wood back to the center of camp and picked up a bucket to fill in the stream, eager for something to do to keep his mind off the Goldcloaks.  Hot Pie, Lommy, and Jendry were already there by the water, washing out pots and pans.  They said nothing to him as he filled his bucket, but he heard Hot Pie and Lommy murmuring something to each other when he lugged the water back to empty it into the large soup cauldron for their supper.  He couldn’t count on them to keep his secret if the soldiers made good on their promise to come back for him.  Jared couldn’t count on anyone but himself.  Just as it had always been.

As he walked back to the stream to fill the bucket again, he caught them in the middle of conversation.  Hot Pie was bickering with Jendry.

“I seen lots of battles!”  Hot Pie exclaimed.  “I saw-”

“Liar,” Jendry interjected.

“I saw a man kill another man just outside a tavern in Fleabottom,” Hot Pie continued undaunted.  “Stabbed him right in the neck.”

“Two men fighting isn’t a battle,” Lommy pointed out.

“They had armor on,” Hot Pie insisted.

“So?” Jendry asked.

“So, if they got armor on it’s a battle!”  Hot Pie explained in frustration. 

“No it isn’t,” Lommy retorted.

“What does a dyer’s apprentice know about battles anyway?”  Hot Pie sneered at Lommy.

“Jared is an armorer’s apprentice.  Hot Pie, tell Jared what you think makes a fight into a battle.  Let him decide.”

At Jendry’s comment, they all looked over at Jared who was leaning down to fill his bucket.  Jared paused with the bucket in the air, waiting for Hot Pie to answer.

“Its…it’s when they’ve got armor on,” he stammered.  He was obviously still nervous around Jared from their last interaction at Kings Landing.

“Who told you that?”  Jared asked flatly.

Hot Pie blinked, not sure how to respond.  “A knight.”  The way he said it sounded more like a question than an answer.

“How did you know he was a knight?”

“Well…’cause he got armor on.”

Jared shook his head at Hot Pie.  “You don’t have to be a knight to have armor.  Any idiot can buy armor.”

“How’d you know?” Hot Pie demanded.

“Cause I _sold_ armor.” Jared replied, exasperated with Hot Pie’s stupidity.

Deflated, Hot Pie rose and walked away without further comment, followed by Lommy. 

Jendry smiled in triumph at their backs.  Hopping up from rock to rock along the edge of the stream, Jendry came up beside Jared.  “What do the Goldcloaks want with you?”

Jared pondered Jendry’s question for a moment, not sure if he should speak freely.  “No idea,” he said.  He hefted his bucket and returned to his chore. 

Jendry screwed up his small face in displeasure.  “You’re a liar.”

Jared had struck others for much less, but something about the boy made that unthinkable to him.  Instead, he just set his jaw and hauled the bucket back towards the cauldron.  “You know, you shouldn’t insult people that are bigger than you.”

“Then I wouldn’t get to insult anyone,” Jendry said matter-of-factly, following close behind him.

 “Well I don’t care what they want,” Jared continued, in response to Jensen’s question.  “No good has ever come of people asking me questions.”

“No good’s ever come…?”  Jendry trailed off, looking warily at him.  “Who asked questions before?”

Jared shook his head a little to himself as he poured out his bucket.  “How can someone so small be such a huge pain in my ass?” he quipped.

“Who asked questions?” Jendry insisted.

Jared lowered the empty bucket and turned to face him, studying the earnest look in the small boy’s eyes.  Even though he shouldn’t, he wanted to trust someone, and Jendry was the only one so far who seemed like someone he could trust.  “The Hand of the King” Jared said finally.  “Hands of the King, actually.  Lord Arryn came first, a few weeks before he died.  And then Lord Stark came, a few weeks before he died.”

“Lord Stark…” Jendry repeated quietly.

“See?  Asking me questions is bad luck.  You’ll probably be dead soon,” Jared declared ruefully.  He started back down to the stream for more water.  One more bucket should do.

Jendry followed after him like a lost duckling.  “What did they ask about?”

“My mother”

“Who’s your mother?”

Jared shrugged his shoulders.  “She’s no one.  Just my mother.  She worked in a tavern and died when I was little.”

“And who’s your father?” Jendry demanded.

“Could be one of those gold-hatted bastards for all I know.”  Jared was getting weary of these questions that he himself couldn’t answer.  He decided to turn the tables on Jendry and ask a few questions of his own.  There were a few things about the strange boy that he’d been wondering about.

“What about you?” Jared asked him.  “Thought they were after you, didn’t you?  Why?  Did you kill someone?  Or is it just because you’re a highborn?”

Jendry’s mouth fell open in shock.  “I’m - I’m not a highborn,” he stammered.

“Yes you are.”  Jared smirked, lifting up a full bucket of water and carrying it back to the pot. 

Catching Jendry off-guard amused him.  He had noticed the truth about the boy right from the start.  By Jared’s guess, Jendry was about twelve years old as he didn’t yet have the form of a man.  However, Jared had the eye of a true craftsman and he picked up small details that others would have missed.  The boy’s soft pale skin, delicate features that spoke of aristocratic breeding, and his smooth un-calloused hands that had clearly never seen a day of hard labor like most lowborn children his age.  They all gave Jendry’s secret away without him having to say a word. 

“Do you think I’m as stupid as the rest of them?” Jared tossed out, glancing back over his shoulder.

“Stupider!” Jendry exclaimed, following behind him angrily.

“Yeah?  Well, think what you will about me.  Doesn’t bother me none.  I still say you’re a highborn.”

“I am not!” Jendry shouted at him.

Jared stopped in his tracks and turned on him, annoyed now.  “Yeah, well then pull your cock out and take a piss,” he countered hotly. 

Everyone knew that highborn families had their fancy physicians circumcise all their newborn sons.  Lowborn families never had the means or the inclination to follow such odd fashions.  Jared had suffered enough teasing of his own from the other boys when he was smaller for that same reason.  It was the only clue he’d ever had about his rightful father’s identity, as little good as that did him.

Jendry blinked owlishly at his brazen words.  “I-I d-don’t need to take a piss.”

Jared didn’t bother responding to such an obvious cover.  He just let out a short derisive snort and emptied the bucket into the large pot, ignoring Jendry altogether.  If the little brat wanted to keep up his charade it was no business of his anyway. 

Jendry made no move to leave however.  He just stood there for a few moments, gauging him.  “Lommy and Hot Pie can’t know.  No one can know,” he said softly at last.  His voice sounded fearful and when Jared turned to meet his gaze, Jendry’s eyes mirrored the same. 

Jared immediately felt bad for taking the ribbing too far.  “Well, they won’t find out from me,” he promised.

Jendry bit his lip, hesitating another beat before he spoke.  “My name’s not Jendry.  It’s Jensen…of House Stark.  Yoren is taking me home to Winterfell.”

Jared froze with the bucket in his hand, his thoughts jumbling together.  He down at the smaller boy as the realization hit him.  “He was your father…the Hand…the traitor.”

“He was never a traitor!” Jensen shouted.  He looked around furtively, then added somewhat quieter, “King Joffrey is a liar.”

Jared ignored him, still dumbstruck with Jendry – no, _Jensen_ ’s news.  “So you _are_ a highborn then.  You’re a _lord_.”

“No…I mean yes.  My father was a lord.  And my older brother but…”

“But you were a lord’s son and you lived in a castle…” Jared continued, working out his thoughts aloud as if Jensen hadn’t spoken.  Then the awkwardness of their conversation finally sunk in and he was horribly ashamed of himself.  “All that about cocks…I should never had said… I-I should be calling you m’lord!”

The look Jensen gave him was furious as if Jared had just called him a mule.  “I am not a lord!”

On a grown man the expression would have been intimidating, but on Jensen Jared couldn’t help but find it utterly laughable.  He couldn’t resist.  Jared gave him a small bow like a dutiful servant and with his voice full of mirth, quickly said “As m’lord commands.”

Jensen pushed him a full step backwards in frustration.

“Well that isn’t the way for a proper little lordling to behave,” Jared said with as much pretend shock and disapproval as he could muster.

Outraged, Jensen pushed Jared again, hard enough to off-balance him and land him on the ground.  Jensen stalked away mad as a wet cat while Jared lay were he fell, leaning up on one elbow to watch him retreat with a wide grin.

He broke into a hearty chuckle.  It was the first good laugh he’d had in a long time.

~~~

As night closed in around the camp, Yoren found them a nearby barn to sleep in.  The other boys slept on the floor in bundles all around him, but Jensen couldn’t sleep.  He sat up sharpening his sword and talking with Yoren.  They hadn’t had a moment alone since they started the march.  Jensen felt comforted now talking with him and listening to the weathered old soldier’s stories.  He was the only person Jensen knew who had known his father and had seen what he’d seen that day in the square.  Yoren knew what kept him up at night. 

Suddenly a horn sounded out a warning in the dark.  “The Goldcloaks!” someone shouted.

Yoren jumped up at once, shouting to his men to ready themselves.  Jensen scrambled to his feet and Jared sprang up beside him.  After what they’d shared earlier that day, he was the only one Jensen considered an ally besides Yoren.  Now with enemy soldiers bearing down on them, he was going to need all the help he could get.

Yoren quickly pulled them both aside, warning them to hide despite their protests.  “Run north if things turn badly,” he told them.  “If either of you are captured by those Lannister dogs there’s not a soul alive who can save you.”  With that, he unsheathed his sword and raced out of the barn. 

Jensen shot a terrified look at Jared before running out of the barn after Yoren.  He wasn’t about to shrink away from a fight, especially when one of his father’s last remaining loyal friends was in danger. 

He wasn’t more than a few steps out of the doorway of the barn before large hands grabbed him and pushed him down behind a bush.  It was Jared, trying to keep him hidden. 

Jensen wriggled away from him and popped up immediately, his eyes on Yoren as the brave man approached the advancing Goldcloaks with his sword in hand. 

“In the name of King Joffrey, drop your weapons!” the leader demanded.

Yoren spat on the ground.  “I don’t think I will.”

“So be it,” the Goldcloak said, motioning to one of his men.  The man raised his crossbow dispassionately and shot Yoren in the chest. 

Jensen lurched forward, trying to run out to Yoren as he fell to the ground.  Jared’s strong grasp held him still. 

“I always hated crossbows,” Yoren said as he rose again slowly, grimacing through the pain.  “They take too long to load.”

Before the Goldcloak could load the next arrow, Yoren’s blade slashed him open. 

Fighting broke out all over the camp, the night filling with the clash and scrape of metal against metal.  Yoren took down a few more men, sustaining a stabbing blow from a spear before the leader plunged his sword down into Yoren’s neck.  As Yoren gurgled out his last breath and dropped to his knees, Jensen watched from his hiding place and gasped in horror. 

Jared burst forward out of the bush in a rage, running straight for the Goldcloaks with Lommy, and Jensen close behind him.  Only Hot Pie stayed behind, too afraid to move. 

Someone had dropped a torch which had caught the dry grass on fire.  The fire quickly spread towards the prisoner’s cart.  The men who were trapped inside yelled for help.  One of them called to Jensen as he ran past them.  Jensen stopped, recognizing the prisoner who spoke by his dark red hair with a shock of white blonde running through it.

The prisoner called himself Jaqen H’ghar.  The man had a soft voice with an odd accent and he’d offered his friendship to Jensen in exchange for a sip of water.  Then his fellow cellmate had interrupted, grabbing for Jensen and threatening his life if he didn’t bring him a beer and some food.  Jensen hadn’t spoken to any of the prisoners again since that day, heeding Jared’s warning that he should stay away from them. 

After a moment of indecision, Jensen grabbed a small axe and handed it to Jaqen so he could break the cage’s lock.  Then he ran to help Jared who was already fighting off one of the soldiers. 

A second soldier came up behind Jared, trapping his arms while the other one punched him until Jared fell to the ground.  Jensen ran forward with Needle in hand, ready to do battle. 

Before he could reach Jared, he felt a great blow to his stomach and all the wind rushed out of his body as he hit the ground.  Staring down at him was a squat little man with a bald head. 

“What do we have here?” the man sneered.  He grabbed Needle out of Jensen’s hand as Jensen coughed and sputtered, trying to pick himself up.  “That’s a fine little blade.  Maybe I’ll pick my teeth with it.”  He grabbed Jensen by his tunic and hauled him to his feet.

The Goldcloaks rounded up all the survivors, chained their hands, and forced them to line up.  Jensen stood next to Jared, whose lip was split open and bleeding.

“Help!  Help me!” Lommy cried.  He was laying on the ground with an arrow in his thigh, unable to stand.

“Something wrong with your leg, boy?” mocked the soldier who held Needle.

“Look at it!” screamed Lommy.

The soldier knelt down by Lommy, considering his wound.  “Can you walk?” he said.

“No!  You’ve got to carry me,” he whined.

“Alright.”  The man offered Lommy his hand.  Lommy took his outstretched hand, pulling himself up as the soldier quickly slide Needle forward into Lommy’s throat.  He spurted out a bubble of blood before falling back down, never to rise again.

“Carry him he says!” laughed the soldier as he walked back towards the other Goldcloaks.

Jensen stared at Lommy’s body, taking in the grisly scene. 

“We’re looking for a bastard named Jared,” the Goldcloak’s leader exclaimed from atop his horse.  “Give him up, or I’ll start taking eyeballs!”

The men of Yoren’s caravan shifted on their feet, trying not to look each other in the eye.  Jensen could feel Jared tense next to him even though he kept his eyes on the ground, his jaw set in a hard line.  Jensen stared at him for a long moment until Jared glanced over at him, his hazel-blue eyes betraying his panic. 

An idea formed in Jensen’s mind.  He looked up, meeting the leader’s angry scowl.  “You want Jared?”

Jared bristled and shifted away from him.

Jensen glanced over to where Lommy lay, gesturing with a nod in the direction of the fallen boy.  “You’ve already got him.” 

From the corner of his eye, he saw Jared’s head shoot up.  Jensen caught his confused stare and willed Jared to follow his gaze to the bull’s head helm which had fallen at the dead boy’s feet.  Lommy must have grabbed it when the Goldcloaks came, stealing it away for himself. 

“He loved that helmet,” Jensen said solemnly.

“Right then.  Move out for Harrenhal!” the leader called out, satisfied that his job was done. 

The soldiers began to push the boys forward, marching them up the embankment and out onto the Kingsroad.  Jared placed a steadying hand under Jensen’s elbow and helped him up the muddy hill.  He said nothing, but Jensen could almost see the thoughts rushing round in the older boy’s mind.  Jensen wanted to weep for Yoren, and that fool Lommy, and for his father.  But he couldn’t.  He had to be strong now.  He was in enemy hands and he was all alone.  Except for Jared.


	2. Chapter 2

As they traveled through the Crownlands towards Harrenhal, they passed the occasional shanty settlement where skinny little children played in the high grass with skinny dogs.  The children ran away when they saw the chains that bound the men’s hands together.  They knew what those chains meant, having spent their short lives in the shadow of the great dark castle.  Jared watched them run and envied them.  He’d give anything to be able to run from these men. 

They’d been walking since before sunrise and the few morsels of food tossed at him by the soldiers wasn’t nearly enough for a boy of his size.  Not enough for a bird he’d wager.  The Goldcloaks urged them on at a grueling pace, eager to get their prisoners to Harrenhal where they could be passed off to someone else.  If any of them fell behind, the bald-headed soldier named Polliver was there with a quick crack of his bullwhip.  More than once he had struck Hot Pie who was struggling to keep up.  Any ill-will Jared had held against the boy had vanished when Lommy had been killed and Hot Pie had wept openly for his friend.  He wasn’t sure if Hot Pie would survive long now if he didn’t manage to stay out of Polliver’s reach.  The hard little man seemed to derive a special sort of pleasure from tormenting the weakest and most vulnerable members of the group.  He carried Jensen’s slender little sword around with him, kept as plunder when he captured them.  He sneered at the young boy with one hand on its hilt whenever he saw him.  Jared would have cheerfully knocked out every last yellow tooth in the man’s head given the chance. 

Jared plodded along, purposefully walking slower than he normally could have with his long strides so that he wouldn’t lose sight of Jensen.  He could see that his friend was tiring but his little legs never faltered.  Jensen’s brow was furrowed in determination as he stared down the road ahead.  He was much stronger than he looked, but Jared knew that if any of the men ever found out Jensen’s secret he would be vulnerable.  Tortured and ransomed to the highest bidder if he was lucky, or executed out of spite to House Stark if he wasn’t.  On top of that was the likely chance that the brutes would harm Jensen in other ways while in their clutches whatever his ultimate fate might be.  The Lannister’s hired thugs were notorious for their lecherous ways, indiscriminate of whether their victim was a comely lass or a delicate boy like Jensen.  Knowing that he was of noble birth would attract them to him like jackals just for the sport of humiliating the Hand’s son.

Scrawny thing that Jensen was, he had saved Jared’s life with his lie.  There simply weren’t words for what he had done, or if there were, Jared’s simple brain didn’t have them.  No one had ever stuck their neck out for him before like that.  He didn’t understand why Jensen had but he would never forget it. 

When Jensen had spoken up that night in front of the Lannister’s men, Jared was afraid that he meant to betray him and reveal his identity.  He was angry and hurt but he wasn’t surprised.  He had learned the hard lesson long ago that people were selfish and couldn’t be relied upon for anything other than what best served themselves.  As a bastard son, it was the truth behind his very existence.  But then Jensen lied for him and stunned him to his core.  Jared reckoned that he owed him his life, and he swore to himself that he’d readily die if it meant protecting his friend. 

As they traveled on, the land gradually rose and became rocky and uneven, making their journey more strenuous.  The sky turned grey over their heads and scattered fits of rain at them on and off, as if the gods themselves were mocking their plight.  The rain was souring the mood amongst the Goldcloaks even further, making them particularly surly.  The ground beneath their feet became a bog of mud, sucking them down with every step.  Jensen slipped in the mire and twice Jared had to catch him before he was swallowed up in it.  Polliver would be happy for any excuse to lash out at him and Jared didn’t want to give him the opportunity.  They were both covered knee deep in mud before long, making their tired legs seem even heavier.

The sun hung low in the sky and yet they were not slowing down.  Surely they must stop to make camp soon?  The Goldcloaks however seemed anxious to hurry on.  As the last rays of the sun disappeared behind the horizon, Jensen looked up at him with his brow knit in worry.  “Why aren’t we stopping?” he whispered.

“I don’t know.”  Not wanting him to fret, Jared gave him a halfhearted smile in reassurance and was rewarded with one in return.  They had to be fairly close to Harrenhal by now, he thought.  He wasn’t sure if Hot Pie or Jensen could take much more of this dreadful march. 

They walked on as darkness fell and some of the soldiers lit torches to see their way forward.  The torchlight cast long shadows on the road of the men and horses in front of them, making them look long and gaunt in the flickering light.  Jared squinted into the darkened woods and could hear the little creatures of the night rustling through the fallen leaves as they fled from the smell of men.  He didn’t blame them one bit.  A wolf howled in the distance.  He looked over at Jensen to see if he was alright but the boy didn’t seem scared at all.  In fact, he seemed comforted by its plaintive sound.  What a puzzle this highborn lordling was.

Soon a light was visible up head and some of the Goldcloaks road ahead towards it.  As they came up the next short hill, Jared could see that it was an inn.  So that’s why the soldiers didn’t stop earlier, he thought to himself.  They were looking forward to what comforts the inn could provide them after a long cold rainy day. 

When they had reached the inn, some of the soldiers lead them back behind the squat stone building to a cove of trees which would provide them cover for the night.  Only the Goldcloaks’ commander Ser Lorch and his favored men would have the pleasure of a warm bunk.  A few soldiers stayed back to guard the captured men, armed with swords and crossbows in case any of them got it into their heads to try and run.  Well at least the ground was dry here, Jared thought. 

He and the other prisoners made a quick fire and threw together a thin stew with some squirrel meat and a few bruised potatoes that the innkeeper had offered them.  Jared took a tin cup full of stew and walked a little ways away from the rest of the men, settling down finally against the large roots of an old tree.  His sore muscles sighed with relief but his skin still burned where the rough metal of his wrist-irons had rubbed them nearly raw.  He tried to eat as slowly as he could, savoring every bite of his food.

Jensen came over and sat with him, cupping his manacled hands around a battered tin cup, letting the steam from the soup warm his face. 

“Eat,” Jared told him.  “Before it grows cold or your skinny bones blow away in the wind.”

“You sound like my nanny-nurse, Septa Mordane,” Jensen said in a petulant tone, looking quickly around to make sure that none of the other men were close enough to overhear.

“Yeah, well you should be glad that she can’t see you now in the state that you’re in.  Any proper septa worth her salt would tan your hide for mucking about in peasant’s clothes, up to your ears in mud,” he said jokingly. 

Jensen smiled for a moment in between greedy mouthfuls of soup.  Then his smile faded away, leaving him looking terribly sad.  “She’d be glad to be rid of me if she wasn’t dead now anyways.” he said, his gaze going soft and dropping to the ground. 

Well done you idiot, Jared scolded himself.  Put your big stupid foot right into it, didn’t you?  He searched for something reassuring to say as Jensen continued eating his soup in silence.  Suddenly Jared’s stomach growled loudly in protest at the meager meal. 

Jensen whipped his head up and giggled right at him. 

It was an innocent and happy sound that made Jared feel oddly warm inside.  Bashfully he slapped at his stomach.  “Quiet you beast.  Pardon me m’lord.  I’m a growing boy and my stomach seems to be growing fastest of all.” 

“If you grow much more you’ll be as big as a real bull and no horse will be able to carry you,” Jensen tossed back easily.  “And I thought I told you not to call me that.”

“Call you what, m’lord?” Jared asked, feigning ignorance.

“Stupid ox!” Jensen huffed in annoyance, throwing his empty cup at him.

Jared caught it effortlessly, grinning broadly at him.  “Now, now.  Behave yourself.  You don’t want to attract those bastards’s attention now do you?” he said, nodding in the direction of their guards. 

Jensen’s eyes shot daggers at him which only made Jared’s grin wider.  By the gods, he loved to tease him.  And Jensen made it so easy.

Something metal crashed to the floor inside the inn, followed by raucous laughter.  Jensen startled at the sound and they both stared across the wide yard to the open backdoor of the inn where the light from inside silhouetted the shapes of men and women moving about within.  The soldiers inside were drunk and working hard at getting drunker still. 

Good, Jared thought to himself.  Maybe they’d pass out or start a fight amongst themselves so that he and Jensen would have a chance to slip away. 

Two of the rowdiest soldiers stumbled out of the inn, accompanied by a pair of serving wenches who were laughing too loudly at the soldier’s jokes, eager to separate them from their coin.  They wandered around the side of the inn, disappearing into the darkness.

“Come on, time for bed,” Jared said, knowing full well what would happen next.  He got up and Jensen followed without comment.  He hoped that the younger boy was tired enough to sleep through it if he could after the long day on the road.  He himself was so tired he felt like he could sleep through a battle of dragons. 

They picked their way around the bodies of the prisoners who had already fallen fast asleep, some of them too tired to even eat.  Jared spotted Hot Pie and settled down on the grass a few paces from him.  Hot Pie stirred in his sleep, splotches of soup staining his chin and tunic.  Jared stifled a chuckle at the sight of him.  He looked like a piglet and snored like one too. 

Jensen curled up on the ground between them, squirming as he tried to find a comfortable position with the chains that hung from his wrists.  

Jared closed his eyes as Jensen began whispering a strange little prayer to himself – a list of names of the people he hated most in the word.  It worried Jared, but Jensen seemed to find comfort in it.  Who was he to deny his friend what small comfort he could find? 

Suddenly the sound of tearing cloth broke the stillness of the night and made Jared open his eyes again.  He turned his head, searching the darkness beside the inn.  He couldn’t see anything but he could hear a hard slap and a woman sobbing.  Her cries were joined shortly by her friend’s angry protests and the thick sound of a punch against soft flesh.  Seven hells, what fresh horror was this?  He looked over at Jensen, checking to see if he had heard it too. 

Jensen had curled into a tight little ball, hugging his knees to his chest.  Jared saw him flinch as one of the drunken soldiers shouted a curse and the women began to shriek. 

Anger and fear sliced through Jared like a knife.  Not for himself, but for his young friend - for Jensen.  And over it all he felt shame too.  If he was grown and he had a sword, he would try to stop those foul demons.  He would try to help those poor women.  But there was nothing he could do for them now.  Nothing.  It made him feel small and helpless. 

The shrieks of the women quickly became muffled screams and a soft keening wail.  They were harder to hear but it was somehow worse because Jared could tell that they were losing their battle with the drunken men. 

Jensen trembled and looked up at him with large haunted eyes. 

Without a word, Jared reached out and gathered him in close to comfort him, looping his shackled arms around the smaller boy protectively.

Jensen nestled his head into the crook of Jared’s shoulder and curled his little fingers into the front of his shirt, holding onto him like a life-raft in a storm. 

Jared cradled him with one arm, his large hand splayed over Jensen’s back gently like he was made of glass.  With as much give as his shackles would allow, he used his other hand to covered Jensen’s ear.  He wanted to shield the innocent boy from the awful sounds as best he could.  He looked over Jensen’s head at Hot Pie to see if he was still asleep. 

Hot Pie stared back at him, terrified by the sounds in the dark.  His little round eyes darted nervously towards Jared’s hands where they held Jensen.  He was obviously confused by the way the two of them were huddling together in the dark.  It wasn’t altogether normal for street-hardened boys like Jensen pretended he was to behave that way with one another.  Jared certainly hadn’t felt so protective of another boy in his whole life.  But Jensen was special.

“Hush” Jared mouthed at Hot Pie.  He didn’t know how much he could trust the other boy yet.  He’d deal with him in the morning once Jensen was out of earshot. 

Jared could feel Jensen’s breath on his chest and he waited patiently for it even out, signaling that the boy had at last relaxed enough to let the exhaustion claim him.  He sighed, the dark blonde crop of hair on Jensen’s head prickling against his cheek, and he forced himself to relax as well.  They’d have another long day ahead of them tomorrow no doubt.  It wouldn’t do to start it off tired and out of sorts.  Not when Jensen needed him. 

He slipped into a deep and dreamless sleep with his hand still over Jensen’s ear, framing the small peaceful face.

~~~

Too hot.  He was far too hot for comfort, Jensen thought as his mind struggled free of sleep.  His eyes flickered open and he was startled to see nothing but the hard wall of Jared’s chest.  He realized at once that he was still wrapped up in the older boy’s arms.  Jared’s body was radiating heat like a live coal in a forge while he slept and Jensen was ensnared in it. 

He squirmed and then froze when Jared moved in his sleep, letting the arm that had been shielding his head and shoulder slip down to drape naturally over Jensen’s small waist. 

He sucked in a gulp of air and blushed at the unfamiliar contact.  Butterflies swarmed anxiously in his stomach, making him wonder at the feeling.  He angled his head up to see if Jared had woken at the sound of the chains around his wrists clinking with their movement. 

In the pre-dawn light, Jensen could see that Jared’s eyes were still closed in sleep.  His dark lashes almost brushed the tops of his cheeks.  They’re too pretty for a man, Jensen thought idly to himself.  He imagined how he could tease Jared about them later and it made him smile.  He lay there for a moment studying Jared’s face as he was never able to before.  The dark curve of his eyebrow.  The tiny mole that framed the side of his nose.  The soft skin across his bottom lip. 

He became aware of Jared’s scent, letting it fill his nostrils, drinking it in.  Wood smoke, leather, and man.  Jensen felt lightheaded and bewildered by the new feelings stirring within him.  Tickles of panic coursed up his spine at his body’s reaction to them.  He didn’t know much about the things that went on between men and women, other than what his father’s soldiers sang about in their baudy songs, but he was sure that they weren’t supposed to involve men and other men.  He cautiously shifted away, trying not to wake Jared, until he was able to wriggle gently out underneath his chains and out of his embrace.  He stood up slowly, watching the other boy’s face. 

Jared only frowned slightly in his sleep and curled his arms in against his chest to fill the void Jensen had left. 

Jensen looked around and noticed the other men were just starting to stir.  The guards were watering the horses, most of their companions still asleep inside the inn.  It was Jensen’s habit to wake very early before the other men so that he could have a few moments to himself.  That way he could relieve himself in privacy, bathe as best he could with the water from his waterskin, and beat the caked dirt from his clothes.  In the castle, Jensen had been used to bathing regularly with the help of his servants.  It was comforting to him now to keep up the ritual as best he could, maintaining something of his former life to remind himself of who he really was. 

However this morning he had dawdled and had to cut his routine short, afraid to indulge in a proper wash now that the men would be rising any moment.  His attention to hygiene would stand out to them as peculiar for a fellow street urchin.  Also, if they saw his nakedness they would see what Jared had once so indelicately hinted would mark him as a nobleborn male.  It made him blush in embarrassment just to think about it.  He’d never seen an uncut prick before but he imagined it would look different enough from his own that someone might take notice.

Jensen brushed the dried mud from his pant-legs and rinsed his face and neck with a small splash of the water he had left, rationing it carefully.  That was better but not by much.  He still felt grimy and irritable because of it.  He blamed Jared for distracting him.  Great stupid oaf and his stupid girlish lashes.

As if he heard Jensen cursing him in his head, Jared opened his eyes briefly before slamming them shut again, rolling onto his back and dragging a heavy hand down his face.  He licked his lips and then looked straight up at the paling sky overhead. 

Jensen watched as he rose stiffly, stretching the aches out of this muscles.  He looked away as Jared walked over to him and pretended to be occupied with picking the mud from his boots, suddenly self-conscious around the handsome older boy.

“You alright?” Jared asked, his voice still raspy with sleep.

“I’m fine.”  Jensen said it to his boots more than he said it to him.

Nodding his head absently, Jared looked over at Hot Pie who was brushing bits of grass from his shirt.  “I’ll be right back” he mumbled, then grabbed the back of Hot Pie’s shirt and hauled him into a dense group of bushes several yards away. 

Off to take a piss, Jensen assumed.  Although, usually Jared seemed just as protective of his privacy as he was.  How odd that he took Hot Pie along with him then.

The soldiers began to file out of the inn, some of them looking rather pale from last night’s revelries.  A few of them carried loaves of brown bread which they broke into hunks and passed out to the prisoners.  Jensen took a piece, careful not to let his fingers touch those of the Goldcloak’s.  He couldn’t be sure which ones had raped those women in the night so in his mind they were all tainted by it.  He sat off by himself, nibbling the stale bread. 

Soon Jared and Hot Pie returned and managed to grab the last few bits of bread which had been scorched by the oven.  They walked over to him as they scratched the burned parts off of their breakfast.  Jared sat himself down next to him and chewed contentedly away, but Hot Pie approached him like one would a skittish animal.  He smiled with surprising warmth at Jensen. 

“Hello Jendry.  You alright this morning?” he asked. 

Jensen glared back at him, wary at his unusual behavior.  “Fine enough.” 

“That’s good.  I miss my dad too, you know.  He died when I was little.  He was a stone mason.  It’s okay to cry about a dead dad even for a man, or so my mum says” he said with a sympathetic look on his face.

Jensen was stunned for a moment.  “Thanks,” he managed. 

Hot Pie smiled at him again and then rose to help load the wagon for travel.  The soldiers were beginning to rouse the men so they could start off for Harrenhal. 

Jensen shot a quizzical look at Jared.  

“What?” Jared said, through a mouthful of bread.

“What’s gotten into him?”

Jared shrugged nonchalantly.  “Gone mental.”

Jensen punched his leg. 

“Hey!  That hurt” he said chuckling and rubbing his thigh where Jensen had struck him.

“Tell me!” Jensen ordered.

“Alright!”  He paused, suddenly serious again.  “He saw us last night and I had to tell him something so he wouldn’t think anything of it,” he whispered.

“What did you say?” Jensen asked panic-stricken.  He was suddenly worried about just what Jared thought of it himself.  

“I didn’t break my promise if that’s what you’re thinking,” Jared said with all sincerity.  “I told him that you were frightened, you were missing your dad, and you were crying.  I tried to calm you.  It’s the truth, isn’t it?”

“I never cried!” Jensen hissed at him indignantly.  He hated that Jared had made him sound so weak in front of Hot Pie.  Like a blubbering baby.

“No.  But I knew he would understand that.  He cries almost every night when he thinks no one can hear.”

Jensen considered what he had said as Jared rose and walked over to the other men to help ready the carts.  He wasn’t wrong, Jensen decided.  Jared didn’t tell on him and he didn’t lie – well not much at least.  Resigned, Jensen got up and joined the rest of the group as they started off down the road.  He fell into step next to Hot Pie with Jared beside them.

They walked until the sun was high in the sky.  Most of it was uphill over rocky ground but the Goldcloaks hurried them along, knowing their destination was near.  In the distance, a black spot on the horizon appeared and then grew steadily bigger until Jensen could make out the shapes of five misshapen towers.  Harrenhal.

As they approached the main gate Hot Pie stopped, staring slackjawed up at the fortress.  Jared and Jensen came up alongside him, following his gaze.  What a dreadful sight to it was to behold.  The ancient castle was made of thick slabs of black stone and topped with ferocious looking gargoyles that bared black stone fangs at them.  Crows circled the five great towers that rose above its walls.  The structures were twisted and gnarled like the fingers of an old witch.  Parts of the castle looked as if they had melted under the heat of a great fire.

“What kind of fire melts stone like tallow?” Jared said, staring up in awe.

“Dragonfire,” Jensen answered.  His tutors had told him about it and the great siege of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen atop his dragon steed.

“There’s dragons here?” Hot Pie asked nervously

Jared shook his head.  “No, all the dragons are dead.”

“What’s that smell?”  Hot Pie scrunched up his nose against the noxious stink emanating from the ruins.

“Dead people,” Jensen said dispassionately.

He turned and walked fearlessly through the yawning black gates.


	3. Chapter 3

The prisoners were led into an animal pen near the rear of the main yard.  There were already some people inside, men and women both covered in filth and emaciated with hunger.  The wooden gate slammed shut behind them.  Jared looked up and saw the body of a man hanging from a nearby post.  The crows had taken his eyes and were working now on his exposed innards.  Everywhere death hung in the air like a foul fog. 

A man’s terrified scream rang out somewhere close and the sound of it jumped up Jared’s spine like it had claws of its own.  The man was screaming like a hog being slaughtered. 

“He’s dead,” said a white-haired woman standing a few feet from him and Jensen.  Jared had barely noticed her there before.  She had stood there listening to the screams without a flicker of emotion.  “He was my son,” she said with an eerie calm.  “My sister was killed three days ago.  My husband, the day before that.”

“They take someone every day?” Jared asked her. 

The woman nodded her head slowly in response.

“Does anyone live?” Jensen asked. 

The woman didn’t move.  Her silence was answer enough.

Jensen’s wide eyes flew up to Jared, searching his face for some small comfort. 

Jared met his gaze and held it, letting him know without words that he was not alone.  Jared looked next for Hot Pie and saw him standing by the gate of their pen.  His shoulders were slumped in defeat.  He could tell that Hot Pie was absorbing what the woman had said as well.  There was madness in her unblinking eyes but Jared didn’t doubt her words.  If they could not escape here they would all surely die.

~~~

Night fell and a soft rain came with it.  The body of a second dead man now decorated a post of their pen along with the first.  His arms and legs hung at odd angles from his body where the rack had pulled them from their joints.  The crows would have fresh meat for breakfast. 

Jared sat in the mud with his back against a roughly hewn support beam.  The pen was so crowded that there was no room for him to lay his head down even if he had wanted to.  There would be no sleep for him that night.  His mind was spinning, trying to figure out a way to save Jensen and Hot Pie.  His wrists were already abraded from trying to wrestle out of his chains which refused to budge.  Even if they were able to get themselves out of the pen, the castle was crawling with soldiers who wouldn’t hesitate to slice them open.  If he were only smarter, he might be able to find a way.  But no, he was as helpless as the mad woman.  What a stupid bull-headed bastard he was.  Jared thunked his head hard against the wood behind him in frustration.  He welcomed the pain.  It was the only thing at the moment he had control over. 

Jensen lay curled up in the mud beside him.  His back was facing Jared with his head nestled on top of his small hands.  He had been softly whispering his nightly list of names.  He flinched slightly at the dull thud of Jared’s head hitting the wood and he fell silent.  Jensen sat up, mud clinging to the side of his face.  He inched closer to Jared.

Jared didn’t look up, but stared at his feet and listened quietly to the clink of Jensen’s chains as he moved.  He was ashamed to feel so helpless.  He didn’t think he could bear to see the disappointment on his little friend’s face even though that’s what he expected and deserved. 

“Jared?” 

At the sound of Jensen’s innocent young voice, emotion flooded through Jared and threatened his composure.  In defense of what sanity he had left, he forced a smile that didn’t meet his eyes.  “Am I added to your list of names then?” he asked sarcastically. 

Confusion and then anger played over Jensen’s features.

Jared didn’t notice.  He was stubbornly staring into the mud at his feet.  “I wouldn’t blame you,” he continued.  “But in all fairness I did warn you that I was bad luck.” 

“Shut up, stupid,” Jensen said.

“Yes m’lord” he quipped, smirking to the ground.

They fell silent again, Jared’s futile attempt at mirth unable to distract them from the overwhelming dread of what the next day would bring.  He felt Jensen’s eyes boring into him and finally dragged his gaze up to meet them.  To his shock, what he found there was not disappointment.  Sadness certainly, and fear, but also faith.  It was the faith in Jensen’s eyes that choked his throat and rendered him speechless.  How was it possible, Jared wondered?  He didn’t deserve it. 

Jensen offered him a grim smile.

It stirred Jared from his daze, and he noticed the mud smeared across Jensen’s freckled cheek.  “Look at you,” he mumbled.  He pulled his shirtsleeve up over his thumb and used it to gently rub the mud off of the younger boy’s face. 

Jensen closed his eyes at Jared’s touch almost shyly, but he didn’t move away. 

When there was nothing left under his thumb but pale skin, Jared’s eyes dropped involuntarily to the delicate pink of Jensen’s lips.  He’d never kissed another boy before, never even entertained the idea, but he thought about it then.  His tenderness towards Jensen in that moment surprised even himself. 

Then as quickly as it appeared, he squashed the feeling away.  What a pair they made, he thought mocking himself.  A ferocious little lord of the North and a lowborn oaf from the gutters of Fleabottom.  “Try to sleep” he told Jensen at last, pulling his hand back.

Obligingly Jensen turned and settled down once again in the mud, this time with his head resting on his folded arms to keep his face out of the muck. 

Jared leaned back against the wooden support and stared up at the sky, wishing with all his might that the gods would take pity on them and let them live another day. 

He felt the pressure of someone’s touch at the small of his back and looked down to find that Jensen had tucked his toes inside the space between Jared’s back and the post to keep them warm.  Jared gave a soft chuckle despite himself and saw the corner of Jensen’s mouth turn up in a smile.

~~~

“Up you dogs!  Get up!” one of the soldier shouted, beating the sides of the pen with a stick. 

Jared woke with a start.  He must have dozed off after Jensen fell asleep.  Groggy and disoriented in the grey morning light, he felt a second of panic until he saw Jensen scrambling to his feet behind him.  Jared looked around for Hot Pie next and saw him to one side of the pen’s gate.  He nodded for Jensen to follow him and they both moved to be nearer to Hot Pie.  Jared wanted them to keep together in case an opportunity arose for them to escape.  An opportunity he felt sure wouldn’t actually come. 

Everyone in the pen was just standing there like lambs to the slaughter, waiting for what would happen next.  A group of soldiers walked out into the yard from inside the black stone keep and were heading their way.  One of them was the largest man that Jared had ever seen.  So large he almost didn’t seem real. 

“That’s him.  The one who picks,” Hot Pie informed them.

“The Mountain,” Jensen said in awe.  The man’s reputation apparently stretched even up to the great frozen lands of the North.

Everyone bowed their heads and averted their eyes as the giant man crossed the yard towards their pen.  They were all afraid to look directly at him for fear that he would pick them out of the pack.  Jared and Jensen mimicked the others, but Hot Pie and another scraggly looking boy stood upright with their eyes fixed forward.

“What are you _doing_?” Jensen hissed.

“He told me that he stares at him everyday,” Hot Pie whispered back, motioning to the other boy.  “That’s why he doesn’t get picked.” 

The Mountain stopped in front of the pen and glared at the disheveled group of prisoners.  He paced back and forth for a few moments, scanning his prey.  His long face was completely expressionless.  When he stopped, he stood in front of Hot Pie and the other boy, both of them staring right at him while everyone else hid their faces.  The Mountain looked from one to the other and then extended his enormous paw of a hand at the other boy.  “You” he said gravely. 

The boy shrank back in terror but two soldiers were there grabbing him and pulling him out of the pen.  Hot Pie watched them take him and wet himself in fear. 

The soldiers took the boy and secured him to a thick wooden chair that was waiting just a few yards away from the prisoner’s pen.  A wire thin man sat opposite the chair on top of the crumbling remains of a short stone wall.  He was eating a pear and watching the soldiers tie the boy down with cold dead eyes.  “The town’s gold and silver.  Where is it?” he asked the boy in a high strange voice.

“I didn’t see any gold,” the boy said.  “I didn’t see anything.”

“Where is the Brotherhood?”

“I don’t know!”

The man considered him for just another moment before nodding to his comrade, a tall and fearsomely ugly man with thinning hair that was standing nearby.  The tall man picked up a bucket fitted with leather straps and opened the door to a wire cage at his feet.  From it, he chose a large brown rat and dropped it in the bucket.

“Where is the Brotherhood?” the thin man asked again, taking a bite of his pear.

“I don’t know!” the boy exclaimed, frantic now with fear.  “Don’t please!”

“Where is the Brotherhood?” the man repeated with his mouth half-full.

“I don’t know!”

The tall man lifted up the boy’s shirt and held the mouth of the bucket against the boy’s stomach as he strapped it tight.  The whites of the boy’s eyes rolled wide like a frightened animal.  He searched the faces of the other prisoners for help but there was none coming. 

“Which of the villagers aided them?” the thin man asked him.

“I don’t know!”

“Who?” he asked again.

“I don’t know!”

The man looked over at his helper, who grabbed a torch from the fire and held the flame near the end of the bucket so that it just licked at the charred wood. 

“Who?” the man asked again

“I never saw!” the boy shouted.

“Who?”

“I never saw!”

“Who?”

“Please don’t…” the boy begged, staring in horror at the bucket which had begun to move against him.

“Who?”

The torch was brought within an inch of the bucket.  The flames caressed its sides and there was frantic scratching and squealing coming from inside it.  The rat was trying to get out.  Trying to escape the fire.  Shock hit Jared with a cold slap in the face as the grisly scene finally registered in his mind.  The poor creature was burrowing it’s way to freedom through the soft wall of the boy’s body. 

“I didn’t see anyone help them!  Take it off!  Take it off!” he cried out as his body started to jerk with pain.

“Who helped them?”

“Gaines, the butcher!  And his son!” the boy screamed desperately.

“That’s better.”  The man smiled, satisfied at last.  “You’ve been very helpful.”  His comrade smiled as well through broken teeth and stuck the torch right under the bucket.

“No!  Stop!  What are you doing?  Please!  Stop!  I told you everything!  No!” the boy screamed.

Jared looked away and saw Jensen standing stock-still, watching the boy writhe and scream in abject pain.  He wanted to go to him and shield him from this inhuman horror but he was afraid that to openly treat him like the innocent he knew Jensen was would only make him a target in front of these ruthless men. 

Finally the tortured boy’s screaming trailed off and his head slumped forward.  The soldiers who had tied him down quickly stepped up to free the now lifeless body and drag him away.  Jared was certain that no matter what they boy would have said, it would have ended the same.

That night Jared again sat on the muddy floor of the pen beside Jensen, guarding over him as Jensen lay reciting his list of names.  He listened to the determination in his friend’s voice, afraid that Jensen might be reaching his breaking point.  The last thing in the world he wanted was to see him go mad like the white-haired woman. 

“Please Polliver!  Some food.  Just a crust of bread?” one of the woman prisoners cried out as Polliver passed her by.  His response was to punch her in the gut.  She fell backward crying into the mud. 

Jared heard Jensen add Polliver’s name to his list that night and the Mountain as well.  He wanted to comfort him or shake him out of his trance but after what he had seen that day, Jared simply had no words.

~~~

The next morning, the Mountain and the inquisitors returned.  One of his soldiers brought over a ladder and pounded the dead boy’s head onto a pike outside the pen while the Mountain selected the next victim of torture.

Jared avoided his stony gaze as he had the day before.  Instead he watched with grim fascination as the boy’s blood rained down with every stroke of the mallet and soaked the wood below.

“You,” the Mountain said after a few moments. 

Jared heard Jensen gasp and he whirled around immediately at the sound.  Jensen was wide-eyed and shaking in terror.  Jared looked over at Hot Pie, thinking that the Mountain had remembered his stare from yesterday and chosen him.  But Hot Pie was already gaping directly at him in shock. 

Then Jared looked up and saw the Mountain’s thick finger pointing at him.  All the blood drained out of his face.  He felt like time had stopped.  Like he was trapped in a horrible nightmare.  His vision blurred out of focus and his own heartbeat drummed in his ears.  Reality finally hit him like a hammer the moment the soldier’s hands touched him arms.  His eyes darted back to Jensen’s face as the soldiers pulled him out of the pen. 

The boy’s face was frozen in abject horror.  He was on the brink of falling apart.

Jared wanted to yell to him to run.  To turn away and shut his eyes.  He refused to be the reason that Jensen finally crumbled.  I can be strong for him, Jared thought as the men pushed him towards the wooden chair.  I won’t shame myself.  I won’t let him see them break me.  That I can control.

“Is there gold or silver in the village?” the thin man asked him as the soldiers bound him to the chair.

“I’m not from the village,” Jared replied, trying to keep his voice from faltering.

“Where is the Brotherhood?” the man asked.

“I don’t know what that is.”

The man nodded to his helper to ready the bucket.  Jared could hear the rat squeal in protest as it was lifted out of the cage.  He felt the panic build within him, making him feel short of breath.  His chest heaved in and out and his heart pounded.  He glanced over at Jensen, needing to see him. 

He hadn’t moved a muscle and was watching it all happen.

Jared clenched his teeth as the bucket was strapped to his abdomen.  He felt the rat brush up against him and his skin crawled at the contact. 

Suddenly he saw movement out of the corner of his eye.  Jensen had turned and was staring towards the main gate.  Jared could hear the sound of riders approaching. 

All the soldiers around him dropped down to their knees.  His torturers removed the bucket and knelt as well.  All of the prisoners knelt, except for Jensen who standing with his head bowed.  Jared looked around him stunned.  He couldn’t see much from where he was tied down but he felt a shift in the air.  Hope sprang to life in his heart.  “What’s this?” he heard someone ask.

“We weren’t expecting you until tomorrow, Lord Tywin,” he heard The Mountain reply. 

Tywin Lannister.  Father to Queen Cersei who put a price on my head, Jared realized.  He heard the rattle of armor as Lord Tywin swung down from his horse.  A moment later, he could see the lord appear over the heads of the prisoners kneeling in their pen.  His hair and beard were Lannister blond streaked with white but he moved with the strength and grace of a much younger man. 

“Why are these prisoners not in their cells?” the lord demanded.

“The cells are overflowing, m’lord” the Mountain informed him. 

“Don’t need none for this lot.  No _permanent_ place,” Polliver said with a cruel sneer.  “After we interrogate them we usually just…”

“Are we so well manned that we can afford to discard able young bodies and skilled laborers?”  Tywin interrupted. 

Polliver didn’t have a ready answer so he just bowed his head at Lannister’s steely glare. 

Tywin circled around to stand in front of Jared. 

Jared saw him coming and quickly averted his eyes.  He kept them downcast in deference since his restraints preventing him from kneeling to the nobleman as he had been taught to do all his life.  He could feel the lord’s cold eyes on him.

“You.  You have a trade?” Tywin asked him. 

“Smith, my lord,” Jared replied.  He chanced a quick glance at Tywin who was looking pointedly at Polliver. 

Polliver’s face grew red.  He caught sight of Jensen who was standing there dumbfounded watching the exchange.  “What are you looking at?” Polliver yelled.  He swung out his fist which Jensen deftly avoided.  Then the outraged little man drew his sword.  “Kneel!  Or I’ll carve your lungs out, you gutter-snipe!” he threatened. 

Jared clenched his fists in rage but was unable to move. 

“You’ll do no such thing” Tywin said matter-of-factly.  “This one’s of noble birth, you idiot.”  With that simple observation spoken aloud by the lord, Jensen’s secret was revealed to all. 

Jared’s heart dropped into his stomach.

 Jensen’s mouth flew open but he didn’t utter a sound. 

Polliver gawked at him but Twyin merely regarded the boy with idle fascination.  “You’re dressed as a commoner.  Why?”

“S-safer to travel, my lord,” he stammered.

“Smart,” the lord said with approval.  “More than I can say for this lot,” he added, gesturing to Polliver.  “Get these prisoners to work!” he commanded to his men, walking briskly away. 

Then he stopped and paused for a moment, looking back at Jensen.  “Bring the child,” he said to The Mountain.  “I need a new cupbearer.”

Before Jared realized what was happening, the Mountain plucked Jensen up out of the pen as if he was a doll, set him down, and began to release his small hands from their chains.  Jared struggled frantically in the chair, trying desperately in vain to get to him before the Mountain took him away. 

Jensen looked right at him as the chains slipped from his wrists.  He was stunned for a moment, and then he gave him a little nod to let him know that everything was alright.  The Mountain pushed him forward towards the black keep.   For the second time that very hour, Jared felt like his world had been upended. 

~~~

Jensen scrambled up the stone steps with a large jug of wine in his hands.  He was on his way to Lord Tywin’s councilroom.  Even though he’d been serving Tywin for a few days now he could never fully shake his nervousness at being so close to the man who was waging a vicious war with his kinsmen.  He wasn’t like any lord Jensen had ever encountered.  He wielded power and fear with the same expertise with which Jensen’s old fencing master, Syrio Florel, had wielded his sword.  Tywin was cunning and dangerous and he didn’t bother to hide any of it behind courtly manners like others might.  Jensen wasn’t sure if that was better or worse.

His life at Harrenhal had changed drastically since that first awful morning.  After Tywin had made him his cupbearer, he had been taken to the kitchens where he was given chores that kept him busy from dawn til dusk.  He slept in a large cell underneath the castle with the other young male servants, but during the day he was somewhat free to move about the castle grounds while he performed his duties.  Jensen knew that everywhere he went he was being watched by Tywin’s men.  By Polliver in particular, who’s usual sneer had taken on a dark glint since he’d learned that he was in fact a highborn.  Jensen avoided him at all costs. 

Occasionally, he would run into Hot Pie who was assigned to be one of the cook’s helpers.  He chopped onions, kneaded dough, and plucked chickens for the soldier’s meals.  He seemed to take to it right away and it was the happiest Jensen had ever seen him. 

But Jared.  Jensen hadn’t seen him since that morning with the torturer, who the men called the Tickler.  He had heard from Hot Pie that Jared was working in the castle forge and seemed well enough.  He was safe at least which had been Jensen’s first concern.  The Tickler had shown obvious resentment about having one of his playthings taken away from him when Jared was released from his chair.  Hot Pie had only seen Jared twice when he had brought him some copper pots to mend.  Jared had asked about him, Hot Pie had said, wanting to know that Jensen was being well treated.  The knowledge that Jared was thinking about him helped Jensen to keep his spirits up.

Jensen approached the heavy door to Lord Tywin’s rooms and one of his guardsmen opened it without sparing him a glance.  There was a large wooden table in the middle of the room where Tywin sat surrounded by his councilmen.  They were discussing troop movements.  Jensen moved swiftly and silently to a sidetable where he filled a ready winepitcher from the jug.  As he poured, he listened intently to their conversation. 

The first time that Jensen had heard Lord Tywin say his brother Robb’s name, he had been startled and afraid.  Now he listened every day as Tywin and his men discussed the bold young upstart and how his forces continued to hold their own in battle.  Robb was becoming a thorn in their sides, refusing to act as they predicted he would.  The men sat there plotting a way to take him down.  Jensen knew now that the gods had sent him to Harrenhal to be Robb’s ears and he would try as best he could to learn the Lannister’s plans and get word to his brother somehow. 

Jensen walked wordlessly around the great table.  He came to Tywin’s cup first as he had been instructed and went to fill it. 

The lord stopped him, asking for water instead.  As Jensen turned to fetch the water jug, Tywin’s cool gaze followed him.  “Boy” he called. 

Jensen froze.  Tywin had seldom addressed him directly since Jensen had begun serving him and only ever with direct commands.  He turned to face older man, trying not to show his fear.

“Where are you from?” Tywin asked.

“Maidenpool, my lord,” he responded, thinking quickly.  Jensen knew that if he ever found out his true identity, he would be doomed. 

“And who are the lords of Maidenpool?  Remind me” Tywin said, watching him carefully.

“House Mooton, my lord” Jensen answered.  He was only half sure about it.

“And what is their sigil?” he continued.

Jensen searched his mind frantically but he had no idea what it might be.  He glanced at the other men around the table who were listening to their exchange with sudden interest.

“A red salmon,” Tywin informed him.  “I think a Maidenpool lad would remember that.”

Jensen looked down at the floor, chastened. 

“You’re a Northerner aren’t you?” Tywin demanded.

“Yes, my lord,” Jensen said softly.  His thoughts filled with deep dread.

“Good,” Twyin said emphatically.  “Now one more time, where are you from?”

“Barrowton, my lord.”  Jensen wouldn’t let the old lion get the best of him.  “House Dustin.  Two crossed longaxes beneath a black crown,” he added with resolve. 

Tywin nodded at his answer, satisfied.  “And what do they say of Robb Stark in the North?” he inquired, watching the boy’s face closely.

Jensen kept his expression as blank as he could manage it.  He met the lord’s stare and a calm came over him.  He could play this game.  “They call him the Young Wolf.”

“And?”

The words began to more flow freely from him he brought the image of his brother into his mind.  Pride warmed his heart.  “They say he rides into battle on the back of a giant direwolf.  They say he can turn into a wolf himself when he wants.  They say he can’t be killed.”

Tywin arched a brow in amusement towards his men and then looked back to Jensen.  “Do you believe them?”

“No, my lord” he replied.  He paused for a moment, feeling his resentment build.  “Anyone can be killed,” he added, staring back at Tywin with defiance.

Tywin warily appraised him for a long moment.  If he recognized Jensen’s veiled threat, he made no mention of it.  “Fetch that water”, he said finally. 

Jensen did his bidding, not saying another word. 

When the water jug was empty he was sent to go fetch more.  He almost flew down the stairs in his eagerness to escape the lord’s chambers.  He had come so close to danger and dared so much.  He was nearly breathless when he reached the yard below.  Jensen turned a corner towards the water barrel and found that a Lannister helmet was sitting on its wooden lid.  He looked around for the helmet’s owner. 

“A boy says nothing,” someone whispered to him from close by. 

Out of a dark corner, a man advanced towards him.  Jensen was startled for a moment, but when he saw that it was Jaqen H’ghar he felt oddly relieved.  The former prisoner was wearing thick plated armor and the lion symbol of the Lannisters.  That gave Jensen pause.  He must have joined with them in order to be released from bondage. 

“A boy keeps his mouth closed,” the man said, leaning against the rock wall.  “No one hears and friends may talk in secret, yes?”  He looked Jensen over.  “The boy keeps secrets.  Secrets about his family name.  It’s not for a man to spoil them.”

He knew!  Jensen didn’t know how, but the whole time Jaqen had known about him and not said a word.  For the first time Jensen thought that maybe Jared and Hot Pie weren’t the only ones he could trust.  But now Jaqen wore his enemy’s colors.

“You’re one of them now,” Jensen lashed out bitterly.  He grabbed the helmet off the barrel and thrust it into the man’s arms.  “I should have let you burn that night in the forest.”  Jensen turned his back to him and began to fill the jug from the barrel.

“Yet you fetch water for one of them now,” Jaqen pointed out.  “Why is this right for you and wrong for me?”

“I didn’t have a choice” Jensen said, turning to facing him.

Jaqen moved closer.  “You did.  I did.  And here we are,” he said tilting his head thoughtfully.  “We all must play the parts we are given.” 

Jensen felt himself backing away.  He wasn’t sure why but something about this foreign man with the odd-colored hair unnerved him. 

“A man pays his debts,” Jaqen said.  “A man owes three.”

“Three what?” Jensen asked in confusion.

“The Red God takes what is his, lovely boy.  And only death may pay for life.  You saved me and the two prisoners I was with.  You stole three deaths from the Red God.  We have to give them back.  Speak three names, and the man with do the rest.”  Jaqen bowed his head in deference.

Jensen could scarcely believe what he was hearing.  He was stunned by the power that Jaqen was offering him.  He couldn’t possibly mean what he said.  But as Jensen stared up into his ice blue eyes, he could tell that Jaqen believed every ounce of it.

“Three lives I will give you.  No more.  No less.  Then we’re done” Jaqen said.

“I can name anyone?  And you’ll kill him?” Jensen heard himself say.

“A man has said,” he replied patiently.

Jensen was surprised at how quickly the idea came to him.  He wasn’t sure if he could fully trust Jaqen yet, but if the man succeeded in this first kill he would know for sure.  It was a small start considering the wealth of vengeance that Jensen held in his heart but it would do.  Jaqen would be helping him to right many wrongs.  Helping him to protect Jared.

“The man who tortures everyone” he said watching for the man’s reaction.

“A man needs a name” Jaqen said.

“I don’t know his name,” Jensen replied anxiously.  “They call him the Tickler.”

“That is enough” Jaqen said smiling.  “Go now boy.  Your master is thirsty.”

Jensen left him there and returned with the water to Tywin’s chambers thinking that he might finally have found a bit of hope inside the dark gloom of Harrenhal. 

After the lord’s dinner had been served and cleared away, he was released to the kitchens where he could find his own meal.  The kitchen was especially busy around dinnertime.  The smells of roasting meat filled the air and made his mouth water.  People were rushing around him everywhere, intent on their tasks.  He took a chicken leg and thick wedge of bread from one of the kitchen helpers and sat down at a nearby bench where some other servants were eating.  He was ravenous and finished off the chicken in a few moments, licking the grease from his fingers. 

Jensen thought about what had happened that afternoon and wondered how long it would be before he knew if Jaqen would keep his word.  For some reason he felt certain that he would.  Buoyed by the thought, Jensen felt bold and much like his old self again before he had come to this terrible place.  Surely no one would notice if he left for a few moments, he thought to himself.  Indeed, who would think it odd if he brought a fellow prisoner a crust of bread?  He felt mischievous and had to stifle a giggle as he snuck out past the great stone hearth and the blazing hot ovens.  Quickly he slipped out of the kitchen before someone could give him chore to do.

Jensen crossed the yard towards the armory trying to walk with purpose as if he had been sent their on an errand.  No one even bothered to look his way as he passed.  As he drew nearer, he could hear the ring of a hammer on metal.  Then Jensen turned a corner and suddenly there he was.   

Jared.   

Jensen stopped, the breath having seemed to leave his body all at once.

He had his back turned towards Jensen so the he didn’t see him right away.  The older boy was naked to the waist, wearing only his simple roughspun pants and brown boots.  His skin was slick with sweat.  Jensen could see the thick muscles in his back jump and bunch as he pumped the bellows of the forge, increasing the heat of the fire within. 

Jensen cleared his throat which was suddenly very dry.  “You there, smith!” he called, careful not to use Jared’s given name in case any of the Goldcloaks overheard.  It was safer if they continued to think that the boy ‘Jared’ was dead in the woods.

Jared immediately jerked around to face him.  His eyes registered surprise, and then joy.  Relief radiated from him and his entire body language changed.  It seemed as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.  He grinned so wide that Jensen couldn’t help but to grin right back.  Jared stepped towards him but then hesitated, conscious that the men in the yard could see them. 

“Took you long enough” Jared said at last. 

Jensen wanted to run to him and hug him but he took his cue from Jared’s restraint.  “I’ve been busy” he said.  “As have you I see.” 

Jared’s grin vanished and he looked solemn, avoiding Jensen’s eyes.  “Yeah well, there’s plenty of need for armor and swords now.  I take my orders and do what I’m told.” 

It occurred to Jensen then that the weapons his friend made were being used to fight his brother.  He could see the anguish on Jared’s face and knew that he was fully aware of his part in the Lannister’s war machine as well. 

Jensen hadn’t meant anything by his comment.  Jared didn’t volunteer for this work anymore than Jensen had volunteered to serve Tywin his dinner.  He struggled to think of something to say.  His conversation with Jaqen came to mind.

“Of course.  As you should,” Jensen reassured him.  “We all must play the parts we are given.”

Jared looked at him, worry along with some other indecipherable emotion on his face. 

Jensen gave him a quick smile to let him know that he bore him no ill will and watched as the worry on his face melted away. 

“How have you been then?” Jared asked him, the tone of his voice more lighthearted now.  “Keeping out of trouble?  Not likely, I think.” he joked.  He grabbed a nearby sword and held it’s tip in the fire, waiting for it to heat.

“I brought you some bread,” Jensen said, holding it out for him to see. 

“No you eat it, thanks.  I’ll eat when I’m finished here.  You’re far too skinny as it is.  Do they not feed you at all?” he asked, watching the metal with a careful eye.

Jensen sat down on a short wall next to the forge and tore a small piece off of the bread, popping it into his mouth.  As the color of the sword changed slowly from grey steel to bright orange, Jared peppered him with questions.  He asked about his days in Lord Twyin’s service.  Was he being treated well?  What kinds of chores did they have him do?  Did he see Hot Pie often?  Jensen answered his questions, happy to fall back into the pattern of their now familiar teasing banter.  Everything felt easier with him near, Jensen realized.  He wished it could always be this way.

Soon the sword was hot enough and Jared brought it over to the anvil where he began to strike it with his hammer, their conversation momentarily suspended by the din it created.  His movements were remarkably economical.  He looked at home in the baking heat of the forge, like he was born to it. 

Jensen sat back contentedly and nibbled at another chuck of bread while he watched Jared work. 

His strong arms were corded with muscle and they rippled under his skin as he lifted the heavy hammer.  The ends of his hair were damp with sweat.  He paused for a second to wipe his brow against his forearm.  Jensen watched transfixed as a bead of sweat snaked its way down from Jared’s neck to his stomach where it dashed itself against the hard ridge of his abdominals.  Jared dunked the sword into a bucket of water at his feet causing the water to sizzle.  The sound it made gave Jensen goosebumps.  He felt lightheaded and flustered.  His stomach was filled with butterflies again and his fingers itched to reach out and touch, slide over the sweat-slick skin of Jared’s bicep. 

What was the matter with him?  He was behaving like his sister Sansa who sighed and cooed like a dove over every handsome knight she saw!  What had changed to make him feel so strangely?  It was only Jared after all.  His friend who looked after him like a brother.  Jensen admonished himself for his silliness.  If Jared could read his mind he would likely be repulsed by him.

Jared lifted the sword, assessing the line of the blade and gauging its balance.  He stepped back and swung it as if he were dueling with the smoky air.  His action brought Jensen back to his senses.  The lessons that Syrio had given him back in Winterfell sprang into his mind.  “You should stand sideface,” he informed Jared, taking a big bite of bread.

“Huh?  Sideface?”

“Sideways” Jensen clarified as he chewed.

“Why?”

“Smaller target,” he replied, taking another bite of bread.  As soon as he said it he realized how futile an effort that would be.  Jared would not be a small target from any angle.  Not that Jensen would tell him that.  He should learn the proper way regardless.

Jared furrowed his brow, confused again.  He swiveled around, looking exaggeratedly behind him and then back to Jensen.  “Am I fighting someone?” he asked sarcastically.

Jensen rolled his eyes at him.  Stupid ox.  “You’re practicing for a fight,” he pointed out. 

Jared blinked back at him and shrugged almost imperceptibly.

“You should practice right,” he said firmly, popping the last bit of bread into his mouth for emphasis. 

Jared arched an eyebrow at him but shifted his stance.  Before he could lift the sword again, there was a loud thud and a scream.  Alarmed, Jensen ran towards the sound with Jared following close behind.

There was a group of people huddled around the body of a fallen man.  The soldiers were asking everyone if they had seen anything.  As Jensen approached, he could see that the man’s neck was broken and his head had twisted the wrong way around.  The dead eyes of the Tickler stared up at him from the ground.  He recoiled a step as the weight of what had just occurred sunk in.  What it meant.  

Searching for confirmation, Jensen looked up to the top of wall where he must have fallen from.  There at a small opening in the rock wall he saw Jaqen H’ghar.  He was watching from above with a secret smile on his face.  He raised one finger to Jensen in a signal.  One life paid to the Red God.  He had fulfilled his promise after all.  

Jensen looked back down at the Tickler, at what he had set in motion, and he smiled.


	4. Chapter 4

Jensen nearly flew down the stone steps, his heart racing excitedly.  At last!  He had something to help Robb.  He’d been serving Lord Tywin for days now and he had heard quite a bit of talk around the table when the councilmen met, but he had never been able to get anything concrete.  Nothing that he could pass along to aid his brother’s cause.  Robb had been beating back the Lannister forces with success but Jensen wasn’t sure how long they could hold.  The men of the North were strong but they were not immortal.  Tywin had enough gold to buy the allegiance of every sword for hire in Westeros, and Jensen wouldn’t put it past him to enslave those he couldn’t. 

The grim-faced lord conversed with him occasionally when they were alone and it always unnerved him, but at the same time it was darkly exciting to match wits with the likes of him.  The older man seemed to enjoy talking with him, praising him for his sharp mind.  Jensen didn’t wonder that he wanted for intelligent conversation considering the cruel brutish men he surrounded himself with.  A few times he thought he might be quick enough to catch the lord in the throat with a dinner knife, but it was too risky and Jensen would never get out of the castle before the guards caught him.  So instead he talked with the older man congenially whenever the mood struck Tywin to engage him and he bided his time while he played the dutiful servant.  Jensen was happy to lull his enemy into complacency if it created an opportunity for him later and today it finally had.  Tywin hadn’t noticed him grabbing the slip of paper when he cleared the table.

Breathless with anticipation, Jensen crouched down in the stairwell and unfurled the roll of paper.  The message had been intended for an ally of Tywin’s.  It instructed them to move ten thousand men southeast to Silverhill.  If Robb were to be made aware of this he could catch them by surprise.  Jensen wasn’t sure how yet to get his hands on a raven to carry the note to Robb.  Perhaps Jared would have an idea?  Jensen sprang up and ran down the rest of the stairs thinking up a way to get the message out.  He was so focused on his new mission that he ran right into Ser Lorch, the Goldcloak’s commander.  

“Where you going, runt?” Lorch demanded, pushing him back.

Jensen tried to control his anxiety and compose himself.  “The armory, my lord.” 

“Why?”

“Lord Twyin sent me,” he replied, hoping Lorch was as dull-witted as he appeared to be.

He squinted at Jensen in disbelief and snatched the paper away from him.  “What might this be?”

“Lord Twyin gave it to me,” Jensen said hesitatingly. 

“What for?”  The imposing man looked down at the paper and unraveled it but Jensen knew well enough that he couldn’t read worth a damn.  Lorch had been humiliated in front of the council by Lord Twyin that very morning for mistakenly sending a message to an ally of the Starks instead to one of the Lannister encampments as it was intended. 

Maybe I could fool him, Jensen thought to himself. 

“He said for me to take it to the armory,” he responded meekly to the commander’s question, cringing inside at how thin a ruse it was.  Why hadn’t he come up with a better lie?

“Why would he do that?” Lorch demanded. 

Jensen fell silent, not sure what to say to appease the commander’s curiosity.  It was ridiculous.  Why would Tywin send him with a paper message to his own armory?

Lorch’s eyes glittered darkly as if he could smell Jensen’s fear.  “Let’s go and ask him!”  He made a grab for Jensen’s arm. 

Jensen dodged his reach and ran as fast as he could.  Luckily for him the yard was full of men.  He weaved in and out of the crowd as Lorch yelled after him.  The commander gave chase for a while, but Jensen lost him quickly in a blind corner of the castle passageways.  Lorch left frustrated, heading for Tywin’s chambers. 

Panic gripped Jensen tight.  He had to stop Lorch from telling on him.  He could be killed for such a betrayal.  He turned and ran through the passageways, desperate to find Jaqen H’ghar.  The assassin still owed him two lives and Jensen had need of his skills.  

When he spotted Jaqen he skidded to a halt and grabbed his arm to get his attention.  “Amory Lorch!” he cried.

Jaqen looked confused for a moment at his frantic tone.  “A boy has named a second name.  A man will do what must be done,” he said calmly.

“Now!” Jensen demanded.

Jaqen glared at him indignantly.  “A boy cannot tell a man exactly when he must do a thing.  A man cannot make a thing happen before its time.”

“But he’s going to tell Tywin!  He’s getting away!  It has to be now!” 

Jaqen frowned at him and sighed.  He jogged off without another word and Jensen prayed that he would be able to stop Lorch in time.  If he didn’t, he was as good as dead.  Jensen took a few deep breaths to steady himself and then hurried down to the kitchens before they sent someone looking for him. 

He was scrubbing pots when he heard the news that Ser Lorch had fallen dead right in Tywin’s doorway.  A poison dart laced with wolfsbane.  The guards were questioning everyone but no one had seen the mystery assassin.  They assumed it was a spy from the mysterious Brotherhood set on killing Lord Tywin and Lorch had just been unfortunate enough to intercept it. 

Only Jensen knew the truth.

That night he lay awake mulling over the day’s events in his mind.  He had almost been caught committing treason and he lost the note that he was going to send to Robb.  Worse yet, he had used up another one of the names that he owed Jaqen H’ghar.  Certainly Ser Lorch deserved his death.  He was the one who had killed Yoren and as leader of the Goldcloaks he had likely killed countless others in service to the devious Lannisters.  But Jensen might have used that second naming to a better strategic advantage if he had a moment to think it out more clearly.  He had no choice at the time but the error was of his own making.  He had to be more careful.  He was getting sloppy.  Jensen had one name left and he would not squander it.  He would name Tywin Lannister, and then he’d see if Jaqen was cunning enough to finally finish what they’d started. 

Jensen fell asleep dreaming of revenge.

~~~

“We were making pies today in the kitchen.  They asked me to help because they know that I’m the best with the dough.  There was blackberry and strawberry and lemon and cherry.  Cherry is the best of all.  That’s my favorite,” Hot Pie mumbled while munching on a piece of currant bread.

He had been going on and on about the kitchen and what they were cooking down there for a while now.  It seemed like he could talk about food forever.  Jared reckoned that he’d heard about nearly every ingredient in every recipe that the cook had ever made just from listening to Hot Pie prattle on.  He didn’t mind usually and it seemed to make Hot Pie happy, but it was starting to get annoying and now Jared felt like he was starving.  He tried to block out Hot Pie’s voice and concentrate on the horseshoe he was shaping with his hammer.  If he focused well enough on the metal everything else just seemed to fade away.  

“You need sour cherries to make it right,” Hot Pie continued.  “And the secret is you dry the stones and then you break them with a mallet.  That’s where the real flavor is.  You crush’em up real fine, and when you’re finished you sprinkle ‘em over the pie crust.”

Just then Jensen came running up to them out of nowhere.  He looked flushed and was half out of breath.  “Where’s Jaqen?” he demanded.

Taken aback by his sudden appearance in the forge, Jared scrambled for moment to remember who he was talking about.  Jaqen.  The foreign man with the funny colored hair who had been one of Yoren’s prisoners.  The one that Jensen had freed the night the Goldcloaks had taken them.  He wore their armor now, didn’t he?  What could Jensen possibly want with him?

“How would I know?” Jared said.

“I need him now!” Jensen exclaimed.  “Lord Tywin’s marching tonight.”

“You _need_ him?” Jared asked incredulously.  What didn’t he know?  Jensen was keeping something from him and that stung a bit.

“He’s helping me,” Jensen replied carefully.  He looked almost guilty when he said it and that made Jared even more concerned.

“I saw him,” Hot Pie interjected.

“Where?” Jensen demanded. 

Hot Pie shrugged and took another bite of bread.

“Where?  Where?” Jensen yelled, grabbing both of the other boy’s ears tightly.

“Ow!” Hot Pie cried as he struggled to get out of Jensen’s grasp.  “They were working on the gates a few hours ago.  On patrol.  Let go of my ears!”

They all turned at the sound of a horse neighing loudly in the yard.  Lord Tywin was mounting his great white warhorse and he dressed in full battle armor. 

Jensen made an aborted move towards him with clenched fists at his sides as if he wished to tear apart the great lord with his bare hands. 

“What you want with him anyway?” Hot Pie asked him. 

Lord Tywin spurred on his horse and he and his knights rode out.  Jensen stood watching them leave looking lost. 

Jared was perturbed by his friend’s odd behavior.  What should he care if Tywin left Harrenhal?  He would think Jensen would be glad not to have to serve the man anymore.  Now he could stay in the kitchens with Hot Pie and be much safer there than under the watchful eye of that old lion.  Jared didn’t care much for the gods.  Not like they’d done much for him, had they?  But he imagined that if the God of Death ever took human form he would closely resemble Tywin Lannister. 

Jensen turned and walked away, heading for the kitchens.  To Jared’s dismay, he didn’t glance up once as he passed the forge.

Jared picked up his neglected horseshoe with the iron tongs and set it in the fire to warm a bit.  He watched the metal start to glow and thought about what Jensen had said about Jaqen.  He fetched the horseshoe out of the fire and set once more to pounding it into shape. 

Jaqen was helping Jensen somehow, but with what?  Why hadn’t Jensen asked _him_ for help?  Hadn’t he been the one helping him all this time?  Sticking by his side and keeping him as safe as he could?  Fine then!  Let him keep his little mysteries, Jared thought to himself.  It was no concern of his.  Why should he care what the little brat did? 

Jared scowled when he realized that while he’d let his thoughts run away with him he’d beaten the horseshoe so hard that half of it was now far too thin and would surely wear out within a fortnight.  Disgusted with himself, he chucked it into a pile of scrap metal.

“You alright, Jared?” Hot Pie asked him.

“Shut-up,” he muttered, starting again with another bit of metal. 

Damn you, Jensen.

~~~

“Where were you?”

Jensen was furious.  He’d been hunting all over the castle for Jaqen.  When he’d finally found him the mysterious assassin was lounging about near the stables drinking apparently without a care in the world.

Jaqen smiled up at him from his seat on the ground against the stable wall with an expression of wry amusement.  “A man has patrol duty,” he said with a shrug.

Jensen glared back him.  “Tywin Lannister was right here!  And now he’s gone.”

“A boy owes one more name,” Jaqen replied simply, apparently content with ignoring Jensen’s outrage.  “The Red God demands it.  Give the man a name.”

“He’s taking his army to attack my brother.  I need him dead right now!” Jensen explained, desperate to make him understand.

Jaqen looked up at him skeptically.  “This a man cannot do,” he said casually, taking a seat against the stone wall.  He lifted the mug of ale he carried and drank deeply. 

“You promised you’d help me.”

“Help was not promised, lovely boy.  Only death,” Jaqen reminded him.  “There must be others.  Give a name.  Any name.”

A thought occurred to Jensen.  It was dangerous beyond anything he’d attempted before but he had little left to lose now.  “You’ll kill anyone I name?” he asked.  “Anybody?”

“By the seven new gods and the old gods beyond counting, I swear it,” the assassin said solemnly.

“Alright.”  Jensen moved closer to Jaqen and stooped to whisper in his ear.  “Jaqen H’ghar.”

Jaqen’s expression went hard as stone.  “A boy gives a man his own name?” he asked with deadly calm.

“That’s right,” Jensen said backing away.  There was challenge in his voice designed to provoke.  He only hoped that he had made the right move in taking such a risk with such a deadly man.

“Gods are not mocked.  Death is no joking thing,” Jaqen warned.

“I’m not joking.  A man can kill himself,” Jensen pointed out.

Jaqen’s nostrils flared in anger.  “Un-name me,” he ground out.

“No.”  Jensen’s mind flashed through gruesome images of several different ways the man could probably kill him right then and there.  

“Please,” Jaqen asked through gritted teeth, exhibiting a level of control Jensen hadn’t thought possible. 

Jensen considered him for a long moment, gauging his reaction and how much further he dared press him.  “I’ll un-name you,” he said finally.

“Thank you.”  The promise of violence subsided from the man’s tone. 

“If…” Jensen added quickly, “You help me and my friends escape.”

Jaqen scoffed at him, gesturing to the many guards around the yard.  “This would require more than one life.  This is not part of our bargain.”

“Fine,” Jensen said curtly.  “Jaqen H’ghar.”

“A boy lacks honor,” the assassin said scowling at him.

Expressionless, Jensen merely shrugged at his reproach.  What use was honor when he didn’t have freedom? 

Jaqen stood, grabbing up his helmet and glaring down at Jensen to show his displeasure.  “If I do this thing, a boy must obey,” he warned.

Jensen met his glare with one of his own.  “A boy will obey.”

Jaqen gave him a nod.  “A boy and his friends will walk through the gate at midnight.”  It was an order as well as a promise.

~~~

That evening, Jared was surprised when Jensen came to find him in the forge with Hot Pie in tow.  Be ready, Jensen had said.  They were leaving at midnight.  Then he had dashed away again without another word of explanation, leaving Jared and Hot Pie in the forge staring after him like idiots. 

Jared didn’t know how it was possible, but he suspected that Jaqen H’ghar was behind it all.  How was it that Jensen trusted his man?  They could be walking right into a trap.

When he was alone again Jared sat on his bunk as he thought over Jensen’s announcement, methodically cracked his knuckles.  It was an unconscious habit of his whenever he was sincerely worried.  He didn’t know what his friend was planning and he didn’t know what part Jaqen had to play in it.  Something about that man felt strange to him.  Jared didn’t know why but he didn’t trust him and he was alarmed that Jensen seemed to so readily.  For all they knew he could be trying to trick Jensen and win favor with the Lannisters.  Even if Jaqen was telling the truth, how did they know if their escape was even possible?  Jared was as eager as any of them to flee Harrenhal but what if the plan failed?  They would all be killed.

Either way, he would never let Jensen go without him.  That he knew for sure. 

Jared gathered up his meager possessions into a sack and snuck out into the yard.  He kept tight to the wall and tried to stay in the shadows as much as possible.  At this time of night there would only be a few guards on patrol.

“Jared!” someone called to him in a loud whisper. 

He turned and saw Jensen’s head poking out from behind a group of barrels.  Jared hurried over to join him and saw that Hot Pie was already there.  He looked forlorn and complained of having to leave while there would be so much baking to be done the next day.  Jared and Jensen ignored him, peering over the tops of the barrels at the main gate.  There were several guards positioned around the entrance and atop the thick outer wall.  The men stood as still and foreboding as gargoyles.

“The sour cherries were all crushed up and ready,” Hot Pie said wistfully, breaking the silence.

“Shut-up,” Jared told him

“Probably in the pie crust by now.  In the oven.  The nice warm oven,” Hot Pie continued.

“Shut-up about the stupid pie,” Jensen ordered.  “What did you bring?”

“A cheese.  It’s alright but it could be better.  I did get some nice sausages, though,” Hot Pie said, sounding proud of himself.

“What did Jaqen want us to do about those guards?”  Jared interrupted in exasperation.  The question of their provisions didn’t matter much if they ended up getting themselves slaughtered.

“He didn’t say,” Jensen replied.  “He just said walk through the gates.”

“Yeah, what about the guards?”

“He didn’t say anything about the guards.”  Jensen chewed his lip, looking concerned.

“Oh, he left that part out?  It’s a pretty important part don’t you think?” Jared said sarcastically.  Had Jensen completely lost his senses?

“We have to trust him,” Jensen insisted.

“Trust him?  How can you say to trust him when he hasn’t even bothered to show his face?”  He had to make Jensen see reason.  Whatever they had planned was clearly not working.

“I want to go back to the kitchens,” Hot Pie whined in fear.

“Shut-up!” Jensen said to him.  “Stay here if you’re afraid.”

Jared glanced over at him, surprised by Jensen’s harsh tone.  He wouldn’t really leave Hot Pie behind.  Would he?

Jensen looked at him for a moment beseechingly and then stepped out from behind the barrels.  He calmly walked towards the gate.

“No!  Don’t!” Jared called out to him frantically.

Jensen ignored him and kept walking.

Without a second thought, Jared scrambled to his feet and darted out after him.  He tried to match the other boy’s careful gate, not wanting to attract more attention than necessary.  He glanced around at the guards but none of them had moved.  Soon Hot Pie was following behind them looking terrified. 

As they neared the gate, Jared squinted hard through the flickering torchlight and saw that the guard nearest to them wasn’t standing at his post at all.  He was hanging dead at it.  His face was a bloody mess.  Shocked and horrified, Jared looked around to the other guards as well.  They were all strung up with long ropes so that their feet were just inches from the ground, posed to look as if they were standing upright. 

Jared looked back at Hot Pie who was cringing away from the grisly sentries as he passed them by.  Within moments they were walking out under the main gate of Harrenhal without raising the slightest stir.


	5. Chapter 5

The moonlight through the tree branches overhead cast dancing shapes across the forest floor. It was the only light they had to see by for they didn’t dare to light a fire. After the rush of fear he’d felt that day and the final thrill of their escape, Jensen was finding it hard to get to sleep even though his body was bone tired.

As soon as the second shift of night watchmen came to relieve their brothers-in-arms they would discover the dead guards and would raise an alarm throughout all of Harrenhal. When the Goldcloaks discovered that the three of them had escaped, they would certainly come looking for them. After all, Jensen was their Lord Lannister’s favorite cupbearer. His absence in particular wouldn’t go unnoticed.

The three of them had run as far and as fast as they could under the cover of night but they couldn’t run forever. Eventually their legs gave out and they had to rest. Hot Pie just didn’t have the stamina that Jensen and Jared did. Leaving him behind wasn’t even a question in Jensen’s mind despite his earlier threat.

At the moment Hot Pie was snoring away, fully exhausted and nestled down to sleep in a pile of dry leaves.

Jensen and Jared sat up, still too full of adrenaline to find rest. Before they had escaped, Jensen had managed to secure a knife from the lord’s table. It was the only real weapon they had. Jared had taken a hammer from the forge but neither of them were entirely sure how useful it might be.

Jared had searched in the woods and found them a couple of slender tree branches which Jensen was busy cutting down into staffs. They’d be useless against armor but they might be able to use the staffs to knock a sword from a soldier’s hands. He’d seen Robb and their father’s ward Theon practicing it often enough. The knife Jensen had taken wasn’t as sharp as he would have liked so it was taking him some time to accomplish his task. As he hacked away at the branch, Jared sat nearby looking off into the woods.

At first Jensen assumed that he was just keeping watch for the Goldcloaks but he had been silent for a long while now. He could sense a tension between them and knew that something was off. Of course, Jared was much too bull-headed to just come out and say it.

Finally, Jensen tossed down the branch he’d been working on in frustration. “What?” he demanded loudly.

“Shhh!” Jared hushed him, nodding towards Hot Pie.

“Seven hells! He’d sleep through a Dothraki raid. What’s the matter with you? Why are you being so quiet? You haven’t said more than five words strung together to me since we left Harrenhal.”

“Alright,” Jared began. “Why didn’t you tell me what you were planning with that Jaqen H’ghar? After everything we’ve been through together you leave me out of this? You waited to tell me until the last minute like I had no more sense than Hot Pie!” He turned his face away from Jensen, staring into the nothingness of the night. A tiny muscle in his jaw twitched angrily.

Jensen had never seen him like this before. It shook him deeply to think that he’d hurt Jared’s feelings and caused him to be so upset.

“I-I’m sorry,” he stammered. “There wasn’t time. Tywin was leaving and I wanted Jaqen to kill him, b-but then it was too late so I asked him to help us escape instead.”

“So you and him were plotting murder, were you?” Jared asked, still refusing to look at him. “Why would he do that? Why would he help you?”

“Because I freed him. He owed me a debt.” Jensen didn't mention the other two deaths.  He wasn't sure Jared would understand.

Jared dropped his gaze to the ground and was quiet again. Then he shook his head slowly looking miserably disappointed. “Why didn’t you come to me first? Didn’t you trust me?”

Jensen couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Of course I do, you great stupid oaf! How can you ask me that?   I didn’t tell you because I wanted to protect you from all of it,” he said angrily. There was so much darkness inside him, so much hate and rage that sometimes it scared him. He didn’t want any of it to touch Jared. He was the only bright spot in left in Jensen’s life.

Jared stood and took a few steps away from him with his fingers clenching and unclenching into angry fists. He whirled around and his temper exploded out of him. “Protect me?” he shouted. “That’s a laugh! I’m twice your size at least and almost a grown man! Who ever asked you to protect me?”

Jensen stood to face him, willing him to understand. “I am a Stark of Winterfell,” he said solemnly. “Our sigil bears a direwolf because if you threaten one of us, you threaten the whole pack of us.” He tried not to let his chin waver as he thought of his family, all of them scattered to the wind now by war and betrayal. He’d be all alone if it wasn’t for his friends. “You and Hot Pie are part of my pack now.”

He watched as Jared’s anger faded away before his eyes until the larger boy just stood there dumbstruck by the weight of Jensen’s words. He looked so lost that on instinct Jensen went to him and hugged him, wrapping his thin arms around Jared’s waist. He rested his head on Jared’s chest like a child even though Jensen no longer felt like he was one. He’d seen too much death to be that carefree little boy ever again.

Jensen felt Jared tense and then sigh heavily. Finally Jared’s arms came around to hug him back. They stayed like that for a long moment, drawing strength from each other. Gradually, Jensen became more and more aware of the feel of Jared’s body where it was pressed against his. The warmth of him and all of Jared’s powerful energy buzzing just underneath his skin. Ever subtle shift of cloth as they breathed together. It made Jensen feel hot all over and fuzzy-headed like when his brother let him have a sip of brandywine. He wondered if Jared was feeling that way too.

He tilted his head up to look Jared in the eye, not even fully sure of what to say, and suddenly Jared’s mouth was right there. Barely an inch away. He could feel the tickle of Jared’s breath against his lips.

Neither of them moved an inch. It was as if time had stopped.  Or maybe they were stopping it through some magic of their own, holding it back together in that one moment where only they existed. Jensen felt his eyelids start to close almost without his bidding. He felt a low thrill of anticipation even though he wasn’t quite sure what would happen next.

Then Jared cleared his throat and angled his head up slightly, breaking the spell. “Right then, little wolf. I don’t know about you but I’m just about worn out.” He let Jensen go and patted the top of Jensen’s head with an awkward kind of affection like he was a pet dog.

Jensen gave him a small smile. He felt a twinge of disappointment that the moment had passed them by but he was relieved to hear the hint of mirth in Jared’s voice again.  

They settled down on the ground to sleep. Jensen was cold without a fire so they huddled together like they had when they were prisoners on the road to Harrenhal. Jared lay on his back with one arm around Jensen protectively and in his free hand he clutched his hammer to his chest. Jensen rested his head against the crook of Jared’s shoulder, the steady beat of Jared’s heart soothing him to sleep.

While he slept, Jensen dreamed.

 

_He was running free along a path deep within a thick shady forest, stretching his muscles and going faster than he ever thought he could. He wasn’t himself at all. His body felt wrong and he knew at once that it wasn’t his own. From the look of the thick grey fur that covered his skin and the enormous paws where his hands would normally be, he recognized himself as a direwolf. And not just any direwolf. He was staring out from behind the eyes of Nymeria, Jensen’s own beloved pet. He should have been terrified, but tucked inside the wolf’s mind he felt wild and free._

_Jensen ran until he saw a break in the trees ahead of him. He slowed to an easy loping gate and followed the path as it opened out into a field of wildflowers. Their scent was intoxicating. He walked through the flowers until he spotted large weirwood tree standing alone in the middle of the field. As he approached, he saw a figure underneath the tree. It was a massive black bull with horns curving out from it’s wide head. At first he was afraid, but his curiosity got the better of him. He walked cautiously closer to it and saw that the bull made no move toward him, but only stared at him placidly. He looked content to be resting peacefully among the flowers. Jensen stopped a few feet to the left of him and cocked his great shaggy head at the strange beast. The bull mimicked his curious expression._

_Suddenly the sky started to darken over their heads and the gentle breeze became a swirling wind. A loud cracking sound startled Jensen.  He looked up to see the bark of the weirwood split open and fall away, revealing a trunk of twisted iron. The blood red leaves were torn away by the strong wind. The branches transformed into grotesque arms made of cannon bodies, swords, and daggers all melded together. As he stared upward in awe of the great iron monstrosity that was once such a beautiful tree, the ground began to rumble beneath his paws._

_The bull lifted itself to flee but then a great thick chain burst forth from the ground and lassoed his neck. A second and then a third chain snaked their way around his body, immobilizing him. He let out a thunderous bellow and struggled against the chains but they only constricted tighter with every movement. Jensen could feel terror coursing through his body - Nymeria’s body, and he wanted to run but he seemed rooted to spot. He watched with horror as the bull screamed in pain while the chains choked and crushed him. It's blood stained the grass beneath him._

 

_~~~  
_

Jensen woke with a start, his heart pounding and his breath coming fast. He sat up running his hands through his cropped hair as he tried to calm down. It was still dark but he could tell that dawn wasn’t far off.

His movement woke Jared who quickly sat up and looked around, most likely expecting to see soldiers approaching. When he saw none, he dropped his hammer and placed a hand on Jensen’s shoulder.  “Are you alright?”

“It’s nothing. Just a nightmare,” he said, trying to keep the tremble of fear out of his voice.

“What was it about?” Jared asked him.  He rubbed Jensen's shoulder lightly in a soothing motion.

Jensen took a few deep breaths until he felt like he was himself again before he answered.  He didn't understand what he'd seen or why but it had frightened him badly.  “I dreamt that I was my wolf Nymeria."

“ _Your_ wolf?” Jared asked skeptically.  He let go of Jensen's shoulder to rub the sleep out of his own eyes.

“Yes, my wolf. My direwolf," Jensen informed him, taking the opportunity to change the subject a bit.  He didn't want Jared to worry about him.  "My brothers and sisters all have one and mine is named Nymeria. Even my half-brother Jon has one. His is all white so Jon calls him Ghost."

“I bet that’s quite a sight on the battlefield. He’ll send the Lannisters running,” Jared commented lightly.

“Jon’s not fighting the Lannisters with Robb and the rest,” Jensen clarified. “He’s at the Wall. He went to join the Night’s Watch.” The thought of Jon had his voice softening. “I miss him. Jon’s about your age. He was always my favorite because neither of us felt like we fit in very well. He was the one who gave me my sword.”

“He’s a bastard like me then?” Jared asked.  He bent his knees up to his chest and folded his arms on top of them. The hunched over position made him seem smaller than he was.  Jensen didn't know if he was doing it intentionally but he liked how it made him feel more like Jared's equal.

“Yes, he is.  But I don't care about that.  He's still my brother.” Jensen didn’t like how Jared threw that word around so casually but he couldn’t deny that it was true. His father had brought Jon home with him to Winterfell as a small baby when he’d returned from war against the mad Targaryen king. No one knew for sure who Jon’s mother was and Lord Stark had never breathed a word about it.  Jensen's mother, Lady Catelyn, had been furious.

“You know it's kind of funny,” Jared said, thinking out loud. “If the Lannisters hadn’t taken us I would be at the Wall myself. Jon might have been my new sworn brother. I always wanted a brother.”

Jensen snorted at the ridiculous thought. “Well you can’t have him. He’s mine.”

“Come on now, you've got plenty of brothers already," Jared joked, bumping his shoulder against Jensen's.  "You’ve got the Lord Robb Stark of Winterfell himself!  Surely you can spare me poor Jon?”

“He’s _King_ Robb of the North and you still can’t have Jon,” he replied haughtily.

Jared stopped smiling and grew serious.  “King? They made your brother king?”

“Yes. After my father was killed,” Jensen said. “Yoren told me that the men of the North decided to take Robb as their king. They’d rather follow him than join with Joffrey and the Lannisters or to side with Joffrey's uncle, Stannis Baratheon.  Lord Stannis still claims that Joffrey shouldn’t be king because he’s not really his brother’s son. He seems to think that the rumors about Cersei Lannister bedding her own brother are true and that Joffrey and his little brother and sister are the results."  Jensen wrinkled his nose in disgust just thinking about it.  "If it is true it means that King Robert didn’t leave a legitimate blood heir of his own.  Stannis believes that because of that the Iron Throne rightfully belongs to him,” He paused, confused by the expression of shock on Jared's face. “But you knew all this, didn’t you? You knew about Robb leading my father’s men.”

“I knew he was fighting the Lannister army along with the other Northern lords but I didn’t realize they’d named him king!” Jared exclaimed, looking pale.

“Well they did.  Of course they did.  Robb’s brilliant,” Jensen said, sticking up for his brother.

“So that means that you’re not just a lord. You’re a _prince_ aren’t you?” Jared stared at him in awe.

“No! Stop that right now,” Jensen said angrily.  “I’m not a prince. It doesn’t work like that.”  He didn’t like where Jared’s mind seemed to be going.

“You are! You’re a prince!” Jared insisted.  “Sleeping in the dirt with the likes of me when you should be sleeping on a featherbed in some great castle.”  He sounded appalled with them both.

Jensen punched him in his arm hard enough to make him wince.  “If you call me a prince again I’ll cut your head off myself with the dullest blade I can find.  Let’s see a pampered little prince do that.”

A smile started to spread across Jared’s face.  “Yes, m’lord.”

“Don’t start that again!”

Jared fell back shaking with laughter at him.

Jensen went to punch him in the stomach but the larger boy was too quick and grabbed his fist before it made contact.  Jared grinned at him in triumph which only served to further infuriated him.  Jensen struggled to wrestle his arm free and managed to get his other wrist caught in Jared’s large hands.

Abruptly, Jared stopped and let him go.  “Did you hear that?” he whispered.

Jensen listened and heard hoofbeats.  Someone was coming.

Jared released Jensen’s hands and quickly ran to get his hammer while Jensen jumped up and shook Hot Pie awake.  “Hot Pie, get up!” Jensen yelled. “They’re here! Run!”

The three of them started to run but they hadn’t gotten more than a few hundred yards before the soldiers were upon them.  One of them rode up to Jared and swung his shield out to clobber him with it.  Jared fell to the ground with blood flowing freely from a large gash on side of his head. Jensen and Hot Pie immediately stopped to try and help him up.  He was so shaky on his feet from the impact that he could barely stand.

Seven armored soldiers quickly surrounded them. They began to dismount and advance towards the three of them with their swords raised to fight. One of them lifted the visor of his helmet and Jensen recognized him right away as Polliver.

He drew Jensen’s captured blade, Needle, out of his swordbelt and sneered at him. Jensen recoiled in fear.

“Caught you didn’t I, you little runt?” Polliver taunted him. “I’ve come to bring you back to Harrenhal. Lord Tywin will have your skin flayed from your bones when he hears about your treachery. We wouldn’t want to miss that now would we?”

Jensen could feel Jared tense beside him. Despite his injury, Jared pulled himself up to his full height and raised his hammer in readiness. “You can’t have him!” he roared at Polliver.

“Can’t I, blacksmith? I’ll have him skewered on my sword like a suckling pig before I’m through with him! Then Tywin can take what’s left.”

Jared charged at Polliver in a blind rage. Two of the other soldiers tried to grab him. He swung his hammer and struck one of them so hard that the man’s helmet was crushed inward and he fell dead. Almost instantly another soldier took his place and then another, pulling the hammer from Jared’s grasp. Three of them held Jared down while they beat him savagely.

Another soldier fought Hot Pie, who tried to wield one of the wooden staffs that Jensen had made but he was quickly overpowered.

“Run!” Jared yelled, choking as the wind was knocked out of him by a heavy boot to his solar plexus.

Part of Jensen’s mind screamed at him to run as Polliver rushed toward him but he refused to obey. This ended now. He lifted his own staff, poised for the fight.

Polliver lunged at him with Needle but Jensen dodged the blow and struck him in the stomach, knocking the evil little man back a few steps. Polliver swung again but connected with nothing as Jensen ducked away from him. Enraged, the man hacked and sliced the air wildly, missing Jensen a third time by mere inches. Jensen swung his staff out and hit Polliver hard on his exposed sword hand. He was rewarded when the blade fell to the earth.

Just then an arrow flew over their heads and pierced through the neck of the final soldier still mounted. He slid off his horse and crashed to the ground, scaring the horses away and distracting Jensen for a second. In that moment, Polliver charged him and knocked him down, sending his staff flying out of his grasp.

“Think you can get the best of me, you little bastard?” he screamed at Jensen as he punched him square in the face.  
  
Jensen saw lights exploding before his eyes. Polliver pounced on him and pinned him down. White hot terror gave Jensen the strength to struggle but Polliver punched him hard again, leaving him dazed. The man held him down with one hand around Jensen’s throat and reached behind himself for Jensen’s discarded staff that had fallen nearby, likely intending to club him with it. Jensen seized the moment to quickly grab the stolen table knife out of the top of his boot.   He plunged it hard up through the soft flesh behind Polliver’s chin. The man's blood spattered down across Jensen’s face as he choked and fell sideways. Jensen rolled out from underneath him, watching Polliver claw once at the knife in his throat and then go limp.

“Jensen!”

He stood and looked frantically around. Jared was running towards him, holding his side.

Jensen ran to him and nearly knocked him off his feet when they collided in a fierce hug.

Jared cried out in pain.

Jensen jumped back, realizing too late that at least one of his friend’s ribs was broken.

“Are you alright?" Jared asked as he winced and clutched his side tightly.  "Did he hurt you?”

“No, I’m okay. This isn’t my blood. Are you alright?” Jensen looked him over worriedly. “Your head’s still bleeding.”

Jared nodded like he understood but didn’t much care. He called out for Hot Pie, looking around for where he might have gotten to.

“I’m here!” Hot Pie yelled back as he lumbered towards them. Behind him walked Jaqen H’ghar, carrying a longbow and leading a brown mare. A quiver of arrows was strapped to his back and a sword hung from his waist.

Jensen was both stunned and relieved to see him. “You came after us.”

“The promise that was given was for a boy and his friends to escape. A man could not let them be captured again so soon. A man pays his debts in full,” Jaqen told him. “The Red God is well pleased today.”

Jensen looked around them. Two of the soldiers who had beaten Jared lay on the ground with arrows sticking out of them. The third still had Jared’s hammer wedged in his skull, crushed like his fallen comrade had been. The soldier who had taken Hot Pie lay with his throat slit open.

“You did this thing yourself, lovely boy?” Jaqen asked, gesturing towards Polliver.

“Yes” he replied, smiling in satisfaction.

Jaqen smiled back at him proudly.

“Jensen, we have to get away from here,” Jared said, looking worriedly from him to Jaqen.

“Your friend is right. You must keep going,” Jaqen agreed.

“Yes,” Jensen nodded, turning to Jared. “You’d better wrap up that cut before we start.”

“Alright. I’m going to take what I can from the bodies and then we need to be on our way.” Jared glanced over at Jaqen. “Thank you.”

Jaqen bowed his head to him in reply and Jared walked away with Hot Pie trailing after him.

“A boy has done well today,” Jaqen said. “Who taught you to fight like this?”

“A Braavosi. Syrio Florel. He taught me to fight and to move with a sword like I was gliding through water. The Water Dance he called it.”

“Syrio Florel? The First Sword?” the man said looking surprised. “For true, you say?”

“Yes. My father hired him to teach me. He was in the middle of teaching me when the Lannister’s men came for us at King’s Landing.”

Jaqen stared down at Jensen for a long moment as if he were appraising him. “You must come with me,” Jaqen told him. “A man will finish teaching what the First Sword could not.”

Jensen was shocked. He never would have expected Jaqen to make him such an offer. It was an offer that he sensed wasn’t one the assassin made often. Jensen knew that there was so much that he could probably teach him. The thought of the adventures they could have thrilled him. Then he caught sight of Jared’s bloodied face concentrating as he ripped a long strip of cloth from a shirt of a Goldcloak and Hot Pie gathering swords and waterskins from the dead men. They needed him more.

“I want to,” Jensen said hesitatingly. He knew if he followed Jaqen he would be led down a dark path. It might help him get the revenge that he prayed for but he also might never be able to return from it. He didn’t care so much for himself but it meant that he would be leaving his friends. His pack. “I can’t leave them,” he said at last.

Jaqen nodded in understanding. “A boy has honor after all,” he said with approval. He reached into a small bag that hung from his belt and pulled out a coin which he handed to Jensen.  “Take this.”

Jensen turned it over in his palm. It was made of iron and had strange symbols etched into it.

“When you are in need, give this to any man of Braavos and tell him _valar morghulis_. This man will find you,” Jaqen said solemnly.

“Valar morghulis,” Jensen repeated, testing the strange words on his tongue. “What does it mean?”

“It means; All men must die.”

The words seemed to echo in Jensen’s head. He looked up at Jaqen, at a loss for what to say. The strange man had  done so much for him. “Thank you.”

Jaqen bowed his head and smiled. “Until we meet again, lovely boy.” Then he mounted his horse and rode off, leaving Jensen behind.

“Jensen, come on!” Jared called. A thin cloth bandage was wrapped around his head and both he and Hot Pie were carrying Goldcloak swords. He waved for Jensen to hurry up and follow them.

Jensen knelt down and picked up Needle from where it had fallen. The weight of it in his hand felt like a piece of home had been returned to him.  It felt right.  
  
“Coming!” he yelled.  He ran to catch up with his friends as a giant grin spread across his face.


	6. Chapter 6

“Ouch!  That hurts!” Jared snapped.  The dried blood on the bandage made it stick to his wound so removing it was proving to be more painful than he’d thought. 

“Don’t be such a baby,” Jensen said as he unwound the rest of the cloth from Jared’s head. 

“How does it look?” he asked.

Jensen grimaced.  “Hideous.  You’ll never be pretty again.” 

Jared blanched and then frowned at him.  “I was never pretty.  Men aren’t pretty,” he muttered. 

Jensen turned from where he sat on a large rock and bent down to wash the soiled bandage in the stream.  The corners of his mouth drew up into a smirk.  “It’s fine, stupid.  You’ll have a scar but it probably won’t be very big.  Besides women love scars.  That’s what Jory used to say.  He was the captain of my father’s guard.  Just about every time I saw him he had a new scar from swordplay and a new wench to go with it,” he said matter-of-factly.

Jared’s mind sputtered.  Jensen was too young to know of such things, wasn’t he?  That was one of the reasons that Jared had pulled back from what he’d almost let himself do last night before the Goldcloaks had attacked.  Maybe Jensen was a bit more worldly than he’d thought.    

“What do I care what women like?” Jared huffed defensively.  He was trying desperately to mask the anxious jittery feeling that made his stomach want to churn for fear of Jensen’s next answer.  “What do _you_ know about women anyway?”

There was no denying anymore that his feelings for Jensen were growing into something more than friendship.  They scared him if he was honest with himself but at the same time he couldn’t seem to put them aside.  He knew that the kind of thoughts he was having about the other boy were considered taboo by most, but in his heart they didn’t feel wrong.  As impossible as it might be, and as unworthy as he knew he was, Jared couldn’t help but to hope that Jensen might feel the same way.

Jensen shrugged his shoulders at Jared’s question.  “Nothing.”  He laid the clean cloth out on some rocks to dry.  “I only know I’m supposed to marry one someday, but I’d really rather not.”

 _He’d rather not_.  Jared felt quietly elated at that.  It was far from an admission of anything but it did help bolster his courage a little.  “Don’t you have any say in it?” he asked.  “I mean, if what you wanted was…something else.”

“No.”  Jensen sighed heavily, picking up a clean strip of cloth and began to wrap it around Jared’s head.  “It is a son’s duty to put the well-being of his House and it’s alliances before his own desires.”  He spoke about it like he was quoting a particularly tiresome lesson that had been drilled into him several times over.  “Noblemen have to get married to proper ladies from proper families and behave themselves in polite company.  They have to do what they’re told.  They have to think of what’s best for their kinsmen and their people.”  Jensen’s bottom lip jutted out in a small pout.  “They can’t go on adventures whenever they want to.  They have _responsibilities_ and can’t do anything fun.” 

Of course.  Jared knew that what he was saying was right even though he hadn’t wanted to admit it to himself.  Jensen didn’t treat him like he was Jared’s social better but in the eyes of the rest of the world he was.  Jared knew he wasn’t good enough to be Jensen’s friend, nevermind anything else.  Any way that he looked at it he knew that what he dreamt of in the most secret chambers of his heart could never happen.

“I can’t imagine anyone telling you what to do,” Jared joked, hoping to make his friend smile again even as the simple truth of Jensen’s words bit into him like shards of glass.  “You wouldn’t listen anyway.”

“Exactly.  I’d make a horrible lord husband,” Jensen said, securing the cloth with a knot.

“I didn’t say that.”  He didn’t think that at all and wondered why Jensen seemed to.

“That’s what my sister Sansa says and she’s always right.  According to her at least.”  Jensen leaned over and kissed Jared’s forehead just underneath where the bandage lay, quick and utterly chaste.  “There.  Now you’ll be all better.”  He rose and walked away to where Hot Pie was roasting meat over a small cookfire. 

Jared sat there for a few moments in mild shock, absorbing the sensation of his casual kiss.  His mother used to kiss his hurts when he was very small but this was different.  His skin felt warm where Jensen’s lips had touched and he ran his fingertips over the spot in wonderment.  Girls had kissed him before and he’d kissed them back eagerly but he’d never felt such a thrill from so simple a gesture.  He wondered what it would be like to kiss Jensen properly. 

“Jared!  Supper’s ready!” Hot Pie called to him. 

Jared shook his head, casting his errant thoughts away and went to join them by the fire.  His snares had worked well and they’d been able to catch a rabbit when they stopped by the stream for water.  The fire was a risk, he knew that well enough, but they wouldn’t get much farther without a good meal and some rest.  They’d been walking for miles after the Goldcloaks had attacked and Jaqen H’ghar had come to their aid.  His head throbbed and he felt a stabbing pain in the left side of his ribcage if he breathed too deeply.  He wanted to lay down in a real bed and just sleep for weeks. 

“Here you go.  It’s a lovely rabbit,” Hot Pie said, ripping a leg off and handing it to him. 

“Thanks.”  He took a seat on the ground and ate greedily, feeling the protein giving him strength.  He went back for seconds and could have easily eaten the whole rabbit but he reminded himself that Jensen and Hot Pie needed to eat too.  Instead, he sat licking the grease off of his fingers as they finished their portions. 

The sun had set and their fire cast a warm glow in the dim light.  Hot Pie was rattling on about how he would have liked to prepare the rabbit if they’d had the proper herbs and vegetables.  Jensen rolled his eyes as he spoke, obviously not having as much patience for his yammering as Jared usually did.  His right eyelid and cheekbone were swollen from Polliver’s fist.  He’d have a black-eye for days, Jared thought frowning.  All in all he was lucky as it could have been worse.  Much worse. 

When Jared thought about what could have happened it made his blood boil.  Jensen seemed fine now, better than fine actually.  That’s what was worrying Jared the most.  His little friend had killed Polliver and smiled afterward.  Jared would have killed Polliver himself if he’d had the chance and gods knew the foul man deserved it.  But Jensen’s cavalier attitude towards killing another human being was setting off alarm bells in Jared’s head.  Jensen had already known so much tragedy and horror in his young life.  As strong as he was, it had to be wearing on him but he kept it bottled up tight inside.  Jared sat watching the flames dance, wondering what would happen when Jensen finally let it all out.

They sat and talked for a while, enjoying the small fire and their newfound freedom.  Hot Pie asked Jensen about Winterfell and what it would be like when they finally got there.  Yoren’s final words to them had been to run North so in lieu of a better option that’s where they were headed.  Jensen obliged his curiosity but didn’t let on that he was a Stark.  He made up a story about his father being an earl whose lands shared a border with Winterfell and who had been a close ally of its fallen lord.

Jared didn’t interrupt but he felt uncomfortable with the lie all the same.  As Jensen continued spinning his story, going into great detail about how his father had died nobly in battle, Jared got more and more agitated by it.  He didn’t like how often or how easily his friend seemed to revert to some sort of deception.  When Hot Pie finally waddled off to find a spot to sleep, Jared questioned him about it.  “Why didn’t you tell him the truth?” he asked.

“You know what a talker he is,” Jensen explained.  “He trusts people too quickly.  He’d tell the wrong person without even meaning to.”

“Yeah well I don’t like it.”

“I don’t want to lie.  I have to.”

“You’re awfully good at it,” Jared muttered. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, nevermind.  I’m tired.  I’m going to go to sleep.  Remember to put the fire out before you do too.”  Jared rose and walked a few paces away.  He lay down in a thick patch of grass on his good side with his back to Jensen.  He listened to the stream burble along as he lay awake thinking about what the other boy had said.  Jared felt disappointed in him.  Even though he’d apologized for it Jensen had kept his dealings with Jaqen a secret.  That had supposedly been an emergency matter of life or death but this wasn’t.  This was calculating.  It only added to the worries he already held about his friend.

He heard the hiss of the fire as Jensen doused it with water, putting it out for the night.  A moment later, Jensen circled around him and was curling up on the ground facing him as had become their habit, but farther removed from Jared than he normally was.  When he was settled down, Jensen looked him in the eye and asked tentatively, “Are you mad at me?”

Jared sighed deeply.  “Not very mad.  More like disappointed,” he admitted, feeling his annoyance start to slip away at the scolded-child tone of his friend’s voice.  Jensen wasn’t completely wrong.  Hot Pie had the best intentions but he rarely thought before he spoke.  And Jared knew that trust wasn’t an easy thing for him.  It didn’t come naturally to him either, at least not up until the day they’d met. 

Jared swallowed his pride and gave voice to the question that was troubling him most about Jensen’s lying.  “What happens when you decide you can’t trust me someday?”

“That will never happen.”  Jensen’s jade green eyes started to fill.  “ _Never_.”

“Why?  I’m nobody special.  How can you be so sure?” Jared pressed him.  He honestly wanted to know the answer.

“I don’t know.  Because,” Jensen sniffled.  “You are special.  You’re my…you’re m-my Jared.

It wasn’t much of a response but to Jared it was salt in a fresh wound.  His little friend couldn’t understand how his innocent words would sound to grown-up ears.  Jared didn’t know what to say so he offered up a smile even though it felt more bitter than sweet.  He brushed a hand over Jensen’s hair and leaned forward to kiss his forehead chastely as the other boy had done for him. 

Jensen gave him a watery half-smile in return and then shifted closer to snuggle into his chest.  Jared held him there, wishing a simple kiss really could make everything all better.

He was Jensen’s and knew he always would be - even though Jensen could never really be his. 

~~~

With his hands outstretched slightly at his sides, Jensen could feel the tall grass tickling his fingertips as he walked.  The sun was high in the sky and it warmed his face pleasantly.  Hot Pie was whistling a little tune as they walked that he couldn’t quite place, but it was a happy song and it almost made him feel like they were all just out on an adventure together.  But then again he knew that they weren’t.  Jensen didn’t really think he’d have another carefree afternoon like the ones he used to have at Winterfell ever again.  He wasn’t the same person that he was back then.  So much had happened since and there was still so much ahead of him that he would have to face.  There were many names left on his list.

Jared was walking ahead of him with his scavenged sword strapped across his back.  It was somewhat smaller than a mighty greatsword like Jensen’s father’s but it was too big to wield one-handed like Syrio’s.  Jared had informed him that it was commonly called a bastard’s sword as it didn’t fit into either style exactly.  It wasn’t something he was usually asked to make in Mott’s forge but he recognized one when he saw it and couldn’t resist taking it for himself.  It wasn’t as if the dead Goldcloak would miss it. 

Jared’s head wound was healing but his ribs still seemed to hurt him quite a bit.  Jensen had noticed when they’d woken up that morning how he’d grunted in pain and very gingerly held his side as he got to his feet.  He couldn’t move as fast as he usually did. 

They had ventured somewhat away from the kingsroad, hoping that it would make them harder to find for anyone who might be coming after them.  They’d been skirting the edges of the forest for most of the day, walking through open fields where the land was much flatter.  Jensen had hoped it would be easier for Jared since this way made the travel less strenuous.  He hadn’t mentioned that part of course because he just knew that the older boy would be difficult about it and insist that he was fine.  His stubborn streak was both impressive and infuriating.   

The difficulty with traveling across the fields was that without the cover of the trees they were much more exposed.  With all of Westeros in upheaval since the death of King Robert, no one could be completely sure of past allegiances anymore.  If Jensen was discovered as being a Stark by some opportunistic country peasant he may well be ransomed to the highest bidder, which was usually always a Lannister.  Thinking about it made him eager for nightfall when they would creep back into the woods to camp for the night. 

They wandered their way through an orchard and Hot Pie pilfered a few apples as they went.  He lumbered up alongside Jensen carrying an armload of them.  “Want one?” he asked with apple juice dribbling down his chin. 

“Hot Pie!  We’re not thieves.” Jensen exclaimed in disgust. 

“Maybe _you’re_ not” he said, taking a bite out of an apple.  “And anyways, your knife that’s back there in Polliver’s neck right now – that came off the lord’s table, didn’t it?”

“Stealing from Lannisters doesn’t count,” Jensen replied hotly.  He walked a little faster to get away from Hot Pie and his confounding logic. 

“You wouldn’t say that if you was a Lannister” he retorted.

Jensen scowled.  “If I were a Lannister I’d use my gold to buy up all the apples in all of the Seven Kingdoms and not give you any!”

“Then I’d steal them from you!” Hot Pie declared triumphantly.  “And it wouldn’t even count as stealing either because you’d be a Lannister.”

Jared started laughing as hard as his injured ribs would allow.

Jensen wanted to throttle them both, starting with Hot Pie.  He turned to face him and tell him just that but he was interrupted by the sound of heavy hoof beats.  Hot Pie and Jared froze where they were.  Jensen’s eyes went wide, suddenly seeing about a dozen riders appearing out of the treeline.  They rode hard, aimed directly for them. 

“Take Hot Pie and run!” Jared yelled to him.  The older boy drew his sword, ready to stand his ground. 

Jensen realized that he intended to hold the men back while they escaped.  Had he lost his fool mind?  If they tried to run, the horses would chase them down in minutes anyway.  He wouldn’t leave Jared there to die alone. 

“No!"  Jensen drew his sword, ready to defend himself.  Hot Pie dropped his sack and drew his own short sword, joining his friends.  A few brief seconds later the riders had them surrounded. 

“What have we here, good sers?” one of them called out mockingly. 

Jensen immediately saw that these men were not Goldcloaks.  They were dirty and disheveled looking with mismatched armor and not a single house sigil among them. 

“Children with swords.   My my, the Lannisters are starting them up young aren’t they?” another one said.

“We’re not with the Lannisters,” Jared told them.

“You’re not?” asked one of the men with an angry scar across his face.  He tsked at Jared, shaking his head.  “You shouldn’t lie to your elders, boy.  We spotted you coming through the wood from Harrenhal.  Tywin Lannister holds that charred pile of shite.  That tells me you’re out here spying for him.”

“We are not!  We hate Lannisters,” Hot Pie cried.

“Ho now, piggy boy.  If you were a spy, wouldn’t that be the first thing you’d say?” the scarred man asked, grinning wickedly.

“Let him alone!  We’re not lying.  We don’t spy for Lannister.  We ran away!” Jensen yelled.

“You ran away did you?  Now I know you’re lying.  No one leaves Harrenhal alive without the Old Lion’s say-so.”  The scarred man drew his sword.  “I don’t like liars.  I’ll give you one more chance to tell me the truth before I run you through.”

Jared moved in front of him.  “Try it” he said through gritted teeth.

“Is this young brute your champion, little lord?” another said, raising the visor of his helm.  The man was deathly pale and had ice white eyes. 

Jensen shuttered under his haunted gaze, sputtering for a reply. 

“Don’t try to deny yourself to me, child,” the man continued.  “I can see the truth of you although you try to hide it.  If you’re not working for Lannister, who are you?”

Jensen gulped.  He felt like the pale rider’s eyes were boring into his soul.  He took a risk, not seeing another way out.  He was sure that if he tried to lie again, this man would know and kill him where he stood.  “I am Jensen.  A Stark of Winterfell,” he said. 

Jensen could see shock register on the men’s faces and heard Hot Pie gasp in disbelief.  He heard Jared cry out for him to stop but he couldn’t now.  He had to see this gamble through. 

“My father was Lord Eddard Stark, Warden of the North and the Hand of King Robert Baratheon.  My brother is King Robb Stark of the North, King of the Andals and of the First Men,” he declared.  “As a son of the North and a friend of the direwolf, I say to you that _winter is coming_.” 

“You do not profane Lord Stark’s name with your lies!” roared the scarred man.  He raised his sword as if to strike but the pale rider stayed his hand.

“Jensen Stark is held captive at King’s Landing, boy.  You expect us to believe you escaped both King’s Landing and Harrenhal?” he asked sarcastically.

“My father’s man Yoren helped me escape after Joffrey had him killed,” Jensen explained.  “Yoren was taking me north when the Lannisters found us and killed him.  They took us to Harrenhal but Lord Tywin didn’t know who I was.  We escaped with some help from a friend.  He’s gone now though.”  There at last was the whole truth.  He actually felt relieved to have it off of his chest.

The man studied his face in silence for a moment that seemed to stretch out forever. 

Jensen wanted to squirm with anxiety but instead forced his expression into a steely stare to show them all that there was indeed winter in his veins. 

“A direwolf” the man said finally.  “I am Lord Beric Dondarrion.  These are my knights, the Brotherhood without Banners.  We are sworn to protect these lands from the Lannister invaders.  For the love I bore your honored father we shall protect you as well, my lord” he said bowing his head slightly.  His men held all held their swords aloft in pledge of their fealty as well.

“Thank you, Lord Beric” Jensen replied.  He looked to Jared who simply lowered his sword, stunned beyond words.

~~~

Jared took a long sip of water from his flask and wiped the sweat from his brow.  He had been working all morning and well into the afternoon, making new horseshoes for the Brotherhood’s horses.  He had done so gladly as he was eager to show his gratitude to these men who had taken them in.  They were a ragtag group of rogue knights and outlaws but their cause was noble.  Two days ago, they had brought him and Hot Pie and Jensen to their encampment deep in the woods.  They had fed them well and asked Jensen all sorts of questions about his father.  Lord Beric had served King Robert and Lord Stark when he had been the king’s Hand, so the Brotherhood and its men continued to hold House Stark in high regard. 

Beric had made Jared uneasy at first.  He looked like something out of a ghost story told to children.  One of his eyes occasionally popped out of his head and had to be shoved back into place.  There was a gaping wound in his chest and part of his skull was dented inward.  But despite his appearance, Beric had been quite gracious to them and it was obvious that his men loved and respected him. 

The men told Jared that Lord Beric had been killed by Sandor Clegane, a fearsome knight with a face mangled by burn scars.  He was known to most as the Hound.  Then less than a day after Beric had died he’d miraculously been brought back to life by the red priest Thoros of Myr.  Thoros made Jared even more nervous and he gave the man a wide berth whenever he was near.  In his mind, any man who wielded such magic was not to be fully trusted. 

Jared looked around his quarters, satisfied with the progress he had made so far in establishing himself in his new surroundings.  When the Brotherhood had learned of his trade, they offered him a bed in their makeshift forge if he would smith for them.  Their last blacksmith had been killed weeks ago.  The forge was in what had once been just a small cave.  It had a hole in the ceiling where the smoke from the fire could escape and the men had fashioned a door out of a thick flap of leather.  The tools were old and some were rusty but he’d been able to make do.  When the fire was hot it felt like the very center of the sun in there, but for him it was already beginning to feel like home.  He felt of use here.

Jared poured what water was left in his flask over his head.  He picked up his shirt where he had thrown it off earlier and pulled it back on.  He was starving all of a sudden which meant he had to venture outside.  Since he had arrived he had only left the forge for his meals.  He had kept himself busy fixing cracked armor and dented helmets, not wanting to run into Jensen. 

Jared sighed and ran his fingers through his wet hair, chiding himself for the part of him that was so anxious about it.  He felt strange around the other boy now and he just needed space to sort it out in his head.  Jensen was a highborn and brother to a king but he had always acted like they were equals.  Now that other people knew who he was, they treated him like a real lord.  They gave him a separate tent to sleep in and brought his meals to him there.  They called him “m’lord”.  That irked Jared most of all.  It had always been their secret joke, but now everything had changed.  He was upset and somehow desperately sad but he couldn’t say why or who was to blame.  Clearly they couldn’t keep going on as they had been.  By all rights, their paths should never have crossed in the first place.  The outside world would’ve eventually intervened to set them back in their proper places.  But part of him wished that he could hold time still so that they could stay just as they were.  Jensen had come to mean so much to him in such a short time. 

Jared turned his thoughts over and over in his mind as he went out to grab his food.  The men were doling out chunks of venison from a deer that their archer, Anguy, had hunted down earlier that day with his bow.  A man called Notch and his friend Dennett tried to engage Jared in conversation.  He didn’t want to seem rude so he stopped to talk to them awhile as he ate even though he was eager to get back to his solitude.  Notch was telling a lewd story about a woman named Maeve, when out of the corner of Jared’s eye he saw Jensen emerge from his tent.  He laughed uncomfortably at Notch’s graphic pantomime of Maeve’s considerable skills and then quickly excused himself, heading back to his forge.  No sooner had he shut the leather flap behind him than Jensen was bursting through it.

“What do you think you’re doing avoiding me?” he yelled.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jared said, feigning ignorance as he set his bowl of venison down on the workbench.

 “Liar!  You’ve been hiding away in here since we arrived.”

“I’ve been busy” he said flatly.

“You’ve been pouting.  And I don’t care if you’re mad.  I’m not sorry,” Jensen added angrily.

Mad?  Now Jared was genuinely confused.  “Sorry?”

“Did you really think I would leave you to fight off twelve men by yourself while I ran away?  No one could have done that alone and survived, you idiot.  Least of all you with your sore ribs.  You have no armor of your own and you swing a sword like a hammer.  I’m much better with a blade than you are.”

Jared started to reply but the younger boy ignored him and continued his tirade as he paced around the forge. 

“And furthermore, I _had_ to tell Beric who I was.  I had no choice.  I know it was a risk but it was my risk to take.  He would have let the Brotherhood kill us all if I hadn’t.  You have no right to be cross with me,” Jensen said hotly.  “Anyway, you’re the one who said I shouldn’t lie.”

“Jensen!” he roared in frustration, trying to get a word in edgewise.

“Don’t you dare yell at me!” Jensen raged back at him.  He pushed Jared hard, catching him off-guard and knocking him backwards. 

Jared's sore left side connected with the edge of the workbench.  Pain stabbed through him and sent him crashing to the ground holding his ribs and curling up into a ball.   All the air seemed to rush out of him and he gasped for breath.

Jensen was immediately kneeling over him, tears swimming in her eyes.  “Oh Jared!  I’m so sorry.  I didn’t mean it.  I’m sorry I hurt you.  Are you okay?  Please be okay,” he rushed out.  “I’m sorry!  I’m sorry!  I’m sorry!” he chanted as he petted Jared’s head.

As the pain began to subside, Jared managed to take several deep breaths.  He rolled onto his back and looked up at his friend, seeing how panicked and miserable Jensen was at having caused him pain.  “It’s alright.  I’m okay.  I know you didn’t mean it.  I’m not mad.  I never was,” he wheezed out.  He tried to sit up and Jensen gently helped pull him upright.

“Don’t move too much yet.  Lean back against the table leg until you’re alright to stand,” he said with his voice trembling.  A fat tear escaped down his cheek. 

Jared reached up to hold the sweet little face in his hand.  “Don’t cry, m’lord” he said, wiping the tear away with his thumb.  Jensen’s skin was so delicate and soft against his roughly calloused palm. 

The other boy’s breath hitched at his touch.  Jared watched with fascination as his green eyes went dreamy soft.  Jensen leaned forward and then experimentally touched his lips to Jared’s.  The contact was so feather-light and so brief.  It was the most innocent of kisses yet altogether different then how Jensen had kissed his forehead before.  There was a whole new awareness to it now and a spark of electricity that left him dumbstruck.  Jared’s head was buzzing with the sensation.  Something deep inside him demanded more.

Jensen leaned forward again, but before he could repeat the kiss, Jared heard himself say “No.”

“No?” Jensen repeated, pulling away in confusion.

Jared swallowed hard, trying to compose himself.  When did everything change?  How had he let this happen?  “Jensen, we can’t.  It’s not right.  I don’t…There can’t be anything but friendship between us.”

Hurt flashed across Jensen’s face for a split second.  “Oh,” he said softly.  He rose stiffly and walked out of the forge without another word.  The silence he left behind was crushing.

Jared stared after him, overwhelmed and absolutely miserable.  He slowly climbed to his feet, using the workbench as a support.  Seconds later, he snatched up his dinner bowl and sent it crashing loudly into the far wall.


	7. Chapter 7

“Lady Smallwood, I present to you Jensen Stark,” Beric announced proudly.

“Welcome to Acorn Hall,” she said smiling.

“Thank you for your hospitality, Lady Smallwood,”  Jensen replied bowing his head to the older woman.  The hall was already busy with activity.  Servants rushed about sweeping the floors and arranging tables and chairs for the feast that night.  He could smell wonderful aromas coming from the kitchen and immediately smiled when he thought of how much Hot Pie would enjoy it.

“It’s my pleasure indeed to host you on such a wonderful occasion.  A young man’s name-day should always be a celebrated event.  I only wish my lord husband were here to welcome you too but alas his duties for Lord Vance required his presence elsewhere.”  Lady Smallwood placed a slender hand on Jensen’s arm, leading him up the grand staircase.  “Beric, you may leave Jensen here with me.  He and I have some preparations to make before tonight,” she said over her shoulder.  Jensen twisted his head nervously and saw Beric bow low before making a hasty retreat.  So apparently he was abandoned here then to face whatever _preparations_ Lady Smallwood had in store for him.

Jensen thought that she was about his mother’s age or perhaps older, but he couldn’t be sure as Lady Smallwood’s face didn’t carry the lines of worry that Catelyn Stark had earned from raising five children, her husband’s ward, as well as his bastard son.  She was tall and slim with a heart-shaped face that seemed fixed in a determined smile.  She led Jensen to a small chamber with beautifully ornate furniture that he felt much too clumsy to actually touch.  She went to the windows and opened the curtains wide, then turned towards Jensen and set her hands on her hips, appraising his road-weary appearance.  
  
“Now my dear, I know you’ve had a rough time of it lately,” she said, wasting no time.  “Running all across the countryside.  Pretending to be a common ruffian.  Sleeping in the woods for heaven’s sake.  Gods know how you survived!  But, you’re safe now with the Brotherhood and today is your name day celebration.  You’re a young man on the very precipice of adulthood.  So as your mother is not here, I feel that it’s my responsibility to make sure that you at least look the part.”

Jensen gulped hard and for a second he imagined hurtling himself out of the chamber’s windows.  
  
If Lady Smallwood noticed his trepidation she ignored it completely as she called for her servants who brought up a large tub and began filling it with buckets of warm water and drizzles of scented oil.  “First a bath,” she ordered.  “Then we’ll find something for you to wear.  I think my nephew Donnel left some of his old things behind here that should do.”

“N-no thank you, my lady.  My own clothes are just fine,” Jensen said, aiming for polite but firm.  

Lady Smallwood continued undaunted as if she hadn’t heard him.  “Donnel’s much thicker around than you.  Takes after his father that way.  But no matter.  I’ll just have my seamstress make the proper adjustments.  I have just the doublet in mind.  The cut will suit you beautifully.  About your hair…well we’ll make do."  She smiled brightly at Jensen and then swept out of the room with a swish of her full skirt before he could reply.  
  
Jensen reminded himself that it would not do to gut his hostess.  He wished that Sansa were here instead of him.  He was sure that Lady Smallwood and Sansa would have been fast friends, bonding over dress patterns and hairstyles.  Jensen on the other hand, felt like he was about to be tortured.

He soon found himself being scrubbed from head to toe until his skin glowed pink.  The servants dried him with linen cloths and then dressed him in a billowy silk shirt with lacy cuffs and a fresh set of smallclothes as his own were nearly threadbare.  If the shirt was any indication of what the rest of his attire would look like he had a strong feeling that he wouldn’t like it one bit.

Lady Smallwood returned with her seamstress who carried the most hideous article of clothing Jensen had ever seen.  It was a light green fabric with an acorn and oak leaf pattern embroidered all over it.  He tried to protest from behind the dressing screen but Lady Swann would hear none of it.  
  
“I thought it only fitting that since this is your first visit to Acorn Hall that you should wear the acorn brocade that I had made special for Donnel to remind him of his home.  He’s outgrown it now but I think it will look just darling on you dear,” she said to Jensen as he slipped on the hideous thing.

Lady Smallwood flitted out of the room to attend to some other last minute details before her guests arrived so Jensen was left alone with the servants and the stern-faced seamstress.  One of the servants attempted to tame his unkempt hair while another helped him into a pair of cream-colored breaches which had clearly been taken in far too tightly.  Jensen was used to wearing a much looser tunic and roughspun pants like a commoner. He was embarrassed at how high the doublet fell just at the top of his thighs and how tightly the breeches clung to his body.  He felt utterly exposed but the seamstress just batted his hands off every time he pulled at his clothes and awkwardly tried to explain how uncomfortable he was.  Finally, he resigned himself to standing still on the small stool as the outfit was hemmed and tucked to accentuate his frame.

He let his mind wander as the woman worked, imagining how everyone would react to the sight of his in such horribly fussy getup.  He felt like he was going to die of embarrassment.  Hot Pie and Jared would laugh at him for certain.  He could take ridicule from Hot Pie. He’d just insult him right back.  But from Jared?  He didn’t know if he could bear it.

Jensen wasn’t even sure if he’d be there that night.  He hadn’t seen or heard from him in several days.  The last time they’d spoken it had been so awkward.  Jared had been waiting outside of his tent and had started to say something about that moment…the moment when Jensen had kissed him and then had abruptly been rejected.  Jensen didn’t want to hear what he had to say about it.  Nothing he could say could take back the sting of knowing that his first real kiss had been such a disaster.  He had interrupted Jared immediately when he tried to bring it up and changed the subject, not wanting to relive the hurt and the shame.  Jared didn’t press the issue, but returned to his forge after a just few minutes of stilted conversation.  He had said that he wanted them to be friends, but Jensen felt like since that kiss their friendship had been strained.  He didn’t understand why Robb and Theon had always been so eager to flirt with girls or why Sansa spoke so dreamily of falling in love.  This whole nonsense seemed like much more trouble than it was worth.

When the women had finished with him, Jensen felt like he was masquerading as someone else.  He barely recognized himself.  The clothing gave his body a man’s shape, trimmed in snug at the waist and cut to make his shoulders look subtly broader.  His short hair was neatly combed and he wore shiny new boots that hugged his calves to the knee.  They were a bit big on him so he wobbled a few times as he walked down the stairs to the main hall but he recovered quickly.  The last thing he needed to add to his embarrassment was to fall flat on his face in front of Lady Smallwood's guests.  
  
He scanned the tables which were already beginning to fill up with people arriving for the feast.  Candlelight and fresh flowers decorated the hall and created a festive air.  A band of musicians played a lively tune, enticing the guests to dance.  He caught sight of Hot Pie who waved to him enthusiastically.  Jensen gritted his teeth in preparation for the jokes at his expense as he walked towards him.

“What happened to you?” Hot Pie asked baffled by the sight of him.

“Nothing.  Why?  Lady Smallwood made me,” he said with a slight cringe.

Jared came walking up behind Hot Pie and his jaw dropped open.  He looked Jensen up and down for a long moment.  
  
Jensen want to run and hide.  He pulled at the bottom of the doublet, trying unsuccessfully to cover himself up more.  “What?” he asked with a scowl.

“You look…different," Jared said, his face expressing a mix of emotions Jensen couldn't identify. “Like a proper lord.”

“I look like an oak tree,” he said flatly pointing to the acorn pattern.

“But nice," Jared added quickly, taking a step closer.  "A nice oak tree."  His eyes darted to Hot Pie in self-conscious hesitation for a split second then focused back on Jensen.  "You even smell nice."

Jensen flushed with embarrassment.  Barely a few moments of speaking to him and Jared already had him flustered.  It just wasn't fair.  “You don’t," he informed him petulantly.  "You stink!”

Hot Pie laughed and Jared frowned down at him in response.

“Excuse me, my lord,” Beric said, addressing Jensen as he approached them.  “I’d like to introduce my squire, Edric Dayne.  Edric returns to us from Blackhaven where he was attending to some errands for me.”

“Good tidings on your name day, my lord,” the boy said with a bow.  When he raised his eyes, Jensen saw that they were almost violet in color, a sharp contrast to his pale blond hair.  He was a handsome lad about Jared’s age although shorter and with a much slighter build to him.

“Thank you,” Jensen said.  Edric smiled at him and he found himself smiling back easily.

“Edric and your half-brother Jon Snow were milk brothers,” Beric informed him.  "They had the same nursemaid."

“For true?” he asked Edric excitedly.  He had never met anyone other than his father who knew anything about Jon before he had arrived at Winterfell.  Jensen looked at the young man with renewed interest.

“Yes.  We were very little when we lived together in Dorne, of course.  Please, come sit by me and I’d be happy to tell you what I do remember,” he said, gesturing towards a nearby table.

Jensen let himself be led away as he started to barrage Edric with questions.  They sat and talked as they ate from delicious dishes of roast pheasant, lamb stew, tangy cheeses, and peach tarts.  Soon he forgot all about how ridiculous he looked.  He asked Edric all about Jon, who apparently was serious and quiet even as a baby.  The way Edric spoke of Dorne made it sound like an exotic paradise. Jensen recognized the homesickness behind his words which he immediately identified with.  He told him about Winterfell and his siblings, including the story of how Theon came to live with them.  The other boy was fun to talk to and Jensen felt so at ease with his company that the evening began to fly by.  It was refreshing to spend time with someone near his own age who understood all the idiosyncrasies of the world he came from.

Tom Sevenstrings sang a lovely ballad as many of the guests got up to dance.  Over Edric’s shoulder, Jensen caught sight of Jared.  He was sitting with Notch and Dennett who were laughing raucously at each other’s jokes.  He wasn’t smiling at all however and his cheeks were flushed from drinking wine.  Jensen watched as he drank steadily and snuck a few glances his way.  
  
Just then a serving girl with blonde hair sidled up next to Jared to refill his cup.  Notch said something to her that made her smile and then plop herself down to sit in Jared’s lap.  Jensen found it unexpectedly upsetting.  Edric was telling him something about the song that Tom was singing but he found it hard to pay attention.  Then Jensen saw the girl running her fingers through Jared’s hair as he took a long swig of wine.  He felt like he couldn’t breathe.  He excused himself, leaving Edric behind as he weaved through the crowd of dancers and rushed out of the main hall.

The cool air of the stable yard made Jensen shiver as he ran out into the moonlight.  He could hear the music and laughter from inside the hall but he didn’t feel merry any longer.  He rubbed his arms to ward off the night’s chill and sat down on the edge of a small fountain.  The water flowed forth in a steady stream from a pitcher being poured out by a stone maiden.  Jensen looked up at the stone maiden’s face, wishing it could impart some sort of wisdom that would help him sort out the tangled mess of feelings battling for dominance inside his head but maiden’s serene smile revealed nothing.

“Jensen!”

Jensen stood and turned to see Jared stumbling out into the yard towards him.  “Not now Jared!  Please, I want some privacy."

Jared looked dejected for a moment and then a wicked grin spread across his face.  “As m’lord commands,” he said.  He crossed to Jensen quickly and scooped him up over his shoulder like he was a sack of flour.  
  
Jensen yelled at him and beat at his broad back with his fists, but Jared charged forward stubbornly ignoring his angry protests.  He carried Jensen into the barn and set him down in the nearest empty stall, shutting the stall door behind him and leaning against it heavily.  
  
“There.  Privacy,” he said with a smug look.  “Just as requested.”

Jensen punched him hard square in the chest, knocking him back a step.  “Don’t you ever do that again!”

“Hit me again if you like,” Jared said unfazed as he straightened up again.  “You’re staying right here until you talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to say,” Jensen shot back at him.  “Won’t your little blonde be missing you?”

Jared blinked at him in confusion.  “Who?”

“Have you forgotten her already?  The whore who was just decorating your lap.”

Jared stared at him for a few beats with a quiet fury building in his eyes.  “She’s nothing,” he ground out through clenched teeth.  “Just a simple-minded girl.  Notch probably offered her a few coppers to flirt with me.  You’re one to talk.  You’ve spent the whole night with that simpering fop Dayne!”

Jensen flushed red.  He was so angry that he could barely speak.  “Edric...I didn’t…I was just being friendly!”  He was sure that Edric didn’t think of him like Jared seemed to be suggesting.  But then again, Jensen thought to himself, Jared didn’t need to know that.

“ _He_ didn’t seem to mind my company,” Jensen said, lashing out with his words this time to hit Jared where it would really hurt.  “What business is it of yours anyway?  He’s perfectly nice.  Just because _you_ don’t want to kiss me doesn’t mean that no one else might!”

Jared sucked in a startled breath before his expression immediately hardened again.  Jensen saw a muscle in his jaw twitch as he tried to compose himself.  “What makes you think I don’t?” he said with deadly calm.

Jensen was gobsmacked.  His heart raced as he stammered, “Y-you said.  You said you didn’t –“

“I said we _can’t_ ,” Jared interrupted.  "That's not the same thing."  
  
He moved a few steps towards Jensen, narrowing the space between them.  “We shouldn’t.  You’re the son of a lord and I’m the bastard son of no one.  I don’t deserve to be your friend.  I don’t even deserve to be left alone with you.  I definitely don’t deserve to touch you.  I never said I didn’t want to.”  He slid his hand into Jensen’s and his gaze roved over Jensen’s face with such intensity that it was almost frightening.  When he spoke again his voice was low and unexpectedly soft.  “I would _never_ say that.”

Jensen felt like the air around them was electrified.  So many emotions flooded his mind and pooled in his heart that he couldn’t process them all at once.  “I don’t understand,” he whispered.  “We kissed and then…”

A tiny smirk played at the corner of Jared’s lips.  “That wasn’t a kiss, sweetling.”

Jensen’s belly was suddenly alive with butterflies at the affectionate term.  A few weeks ago he would have teased Jared for using it or promptly squirmed out of his grasp and fled.  Now Jensen felt the goosebumps rise from his skin and instead of being frightened away by the way Jared was making him feel he leaned in closer.

“It wasn’t?” he asked tentatively, shooting the older boy a look through the light fringe of his lashes.

Jared’s eyes darkened like a storm gathering over calm seas.  “No,” he said thickly.  “Let me show you the difference.”

His hand skimmed up Jensen’s arm to cradle the back of his neck while his other arm circled around the narrow of his waist.  He leaned in until his mouth was mere inches away and Jensen could feel the warmth of his breath.  Jared paused there, looking deep into his eyes as if asking permission.  
  
Going on instinct, Jensen licked his bottom lip nervously and placed his hands on Jared’s broad chest.  He closed his eyes and Jared took his cue.

His warm soft lips slanted slowly over Jensen’s.  Jensen was aware of his scent and the feel of rough hands holding him close, but everything else just seemed to slip away.  When he responded to the caress of Jared’s kiss, the older boy gently increased the pressure.  Jensen could feel Jared's heartbeat under his hands.  The steady rhythm of it urged him on despite the way that his legs were shaking.

Jared shifted his angle and teased Jensen’s lips with his tongue, seeking entrance.  Jensen parted for him, allowing him to explore his virgin mouth.  The feel of Jared’s tongue lightly sliding against his own made his head swim.  He tasted like sweet summer wine and Jensen was getting drunk on the flavor of him.  He brought his hands up to Jared’s shoulders to steady himself and Jared pulled him in flush against him.  The heat from his body warmed Jensen’s blood and awakened a hunger within him.  He began to twine his tongue rhythmically with Jared’s, mimicking his example.

Jared grunted and his hand moved from Jensen’s neck to splay across his lower back, pressing him tight.  The sleeveless leather jerkin he wore felt coarse next to the rich silky fabric of Jensen’s clothes.  Everything about Jared was rough and bulky where he was small and soft.  The contrast thrilled him and he let out a little hum of pleasure.

The sound seemed to trigger something within Jared and made his control snap.  Suddenly he deepened the kiss, ravishing the younger boy’s mouth greedily as he backed him up against the wood of the stall.  Stars exploded in Jensen’s head as Jared kisses became more feverish and his big hands dragged over sensitive skin.  Real need clawed it’s way through his body for the first time and the pull of it overwhelmed his already taxed senses.  Faintly he heard the sleeve of his shirt rip slightly where it caught on a nail-head.  He couldn’t have cared less.  He felt like he was drowning in Jared’s embrace.  It was all just so much.  Too much.

Desperate for air, he pushed away enough to break their kiss before he lost himself completely.  Jensen’s lips felt swollen and his legs were weak beneath him.  He wasn’t sure he could stand if Jared wasn’t there holding him up.

Jared rested his forehead against his as he tried to steady his ragged breath. “Are you alright?” he asked hoarsely.

Jensen leaned against him for a moment, trying to collect himself.  He felt like all the bones in his body had gone soft.  He managed to nod his head yes in response.

“I’m sorry.  I got carried away,” Jared said on a half-hearted laugh.  He gave Jensen an affectionate squeeze around the waist.  “You make me forget myself.”

“Do I?” Jensen mulled the admission over in his head and found himself reveling in the newfound sense of power that it gave him.  Making Jared forget himself was proving to be a lot of fun.

Jared leaned back to hold him at arm’s length and read the mischief he saw behind Jensen’s eyes as clear as day.  “You are a dangerous one, my little lord,” he said, smiling ruefully.

Jensen grinned gleefully in response.  He could not have hoped for a better compliment.

Jared released him and opened the stall door.  “Come, we’ve been gone too long already.  Your guests will be missing you.  Go ahead back.  I’ll wait here a while so it’ll look as if you were just out here on your own.”

Jensen laughed, showing him the rip in his sleeve.  “I think this might give me away.”

Jared looked horrified and touched the tear gingerly as if it was a gash in Jensen’s skin.  “I-I’m sorry.  Seven hells!  D’you think Lady Smallwood will be very angry?  If it were made of metal like armor I could fix it up quick but I’m worse than useless with cloth.”

The worry on his face over such a small thing as a torn sleeve warmed Jensen in a way that was different from his kisses but just as pleasant.  “I’ll make something up.  Don’t worry.”

Jared frowned slightly, his expression becoming quite serious.  “What am I supposed do about you?” he said, sounding as if he was really asking it to himself.

Jensen mulled over his question, sensing it was much bigger than either of them were prepared for.  He didn’t want to think about what it might mean.  He felt like together in that captured moment they had broken with reality and he refused to let it steal its way back in to their world now.  “I don’t know,” he said simply with a small shrug.  “We’ll sort it out,” he added trying to reassure Jared and perhaps himself as well.  He gave Jared a hopeful smile and was rewarded with a hesitant one in return.

After indulging himself in one short kiss goodbye, Jensen walked alone out into the moonlight.  He paused to close the barn door behind him and let out a long shaky breath.  Touching his fingertips to his sensitive lips, he delighted in the secret reason for their tender state.  He stole a glance up at the stone maiden in the fountain.  “Shhh,” he whispered to it with a gleam in his eye.

Then Jensen squared his shoulders and strode back towards the great hall, ready to do battle with Lady Smallwood and her damned seamstress.


	8. Chapter 8

Steam hissed up angrily from the water bucket where Jared was tempering a shoulder-plate of armor.  To him it was a familiar and even comforting sound.  It was already well past sundown and some of the men were sitting around outside around a fire swapping tall tales and passing around a few flagons of wine.  Jared could hear them faintly from inside his forge. It was becoming a familiar sound as well.

Normally he would probably join them for at least a while, but he was expecting Jensen soon.  He was excited and little nervous to see him.  He set aside the armor he was working on for Beric and gathered up his tools.  All day long he had thought about last night’s kiss in the barn.  He’d hammered his own thumb twice he was so distracted.  He knew it was wrong but when Jensen had been so close to him like that after a while he couldn’t seem to remember why. Now that the boundary between them had been breached, he didn’t think he could ever go back.

Jared squatted down and plunged his cupped hands into the water bucket.  He splashed water over his face and neck, trying to clean the dirt and sweat off as best he could.  The water trickled down his shoulders and chest, leaving little trails in the fine layer of soot that dusted his exposed skin.  He wished he had left himself time for a proper bath but he had gotten caught up in his work again.  He didn’t think he’d ever been this happy.   
  
Happiness wasn’t something that he had experienced much of.  It was usually fleeting and came with a price.  Jared had accepted a long time ago that it was just his lot in life.  He wasn’t meant for anything more.  He was lucky enough to be able to work at something he liked to do and was fairly good at.  Most nights he had enough to eat and a roof over his head.  It was a simple life for a simple kind of man, which is all he could hope to be.  But then he had met Jensen and everything had changed.  Jensen made him want more.

As if bidden by his thoughts, Jensen darted in through the leather flap door.  Jared was startled for a moment at his sudden appearance.  

“I’m here, finally,” Jensen said somewhat breathless.  His cheeks were flushed and he squinted his eyes as they adjusted to the light of the fire.  “I had to sneak past Anguy and the lads but I don’t think anyone noticed me.  Gods, it’s hot in here! How do you stand it?”  He flopped down unceremoniously on a stool.

“I like the heat,” Jared said as he stood.  “I’m used to it.  Can you hand me my shirt?” he said, gesturing to where it lay on the workbench.

Jensen turned and picked it up.  “This?” he said innocently.  “No.”

“Jensen…”

“I like you better without it,” he said with a smirk

Embarrassment had Jared’s cheeks burning.  “I-it’s indecent.”  Gods, he sounded like an old maid, Jared thought to himself.  Well, _someone_ had to be the responsible one.

“No it’s not,” Jensen retorted.  “I’ve seen you without a shirt before.  In broad daylight.”

“That was different…it’s different now.”  Jared grabbed for the shirt but Jensen was faster.  The smaller boy dodged under this arm and popped up behind him.

“Don’t be stupid,” Jensen said as Jared spun around to face him.  He held the shirt behind his back with both hands, his green eyes glinting mischievously with an obvious challenge.

Jared knew that look.  “Enough! If you don’t give me my shirt, you’ll not get your present,” he warned.

“A present?” Jensen asked, suddenly curious.

“Hand it over and you’ll see.”

Jensen reluctantly placed the wadded up shirt in his hand.  Jared shook it out and pulled it over his head.  He grabbed Jensen’s hand and led him over to the workbench where he lifted him up to sit on the edge of it.  “Stay here for a moment and close your eyes,” he said.

Jensen lifted an eyebrow at him but he obeyed, shutting his eyelids up tight.

Jared went to his cot and pulled his haversack out from underneath it.  He fished inside and pulled out a cloth-wrapped bundle.  Then he stood in front of Jensen, smiling nervously at the impatience on his small face.  “Alright. Open your eyes.”

Jensen’s eyes flew open and he took the bundle that Jared held out to him, eagerly unwrapping the cloth.

“Careful!” Jared warned him.  “It’s very sharp.”

Jensen shot him a quizzical glance and then pulled back the final bit of cloth to reveal a shiny new dagger.  “Oh! It’s beautiful,” he said in awe.

Jared grinned in relief.  He had spent many nights working on it.  Even those nights that he had spent cursing Jensen he worked until his arms ached.  The blade itself was slim but strong.  He had made it from reforged Valaryian steel that he had bartered from Thoros in exchange for a new helmet and chestplate.  He had folded the hot steel and hammering it out over and over again until it rippled in the light as Mott had taught him.  For the handle he had used silver and carved a snarling wolf’s head into the pommel.  He just hoped that he had gotten it right.

Jensen picked it up and rotated his wrist, admiring it as the firelight played over its edges.

“I was going to give it to you yesterday for your name day, but with everything…you know…it’s ah been awkward…I didn’t think it was a good time,” Jared said bashfully, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck.  “I wasn’t sure.  I wanted to make you something you could use.  I-I put a direwolf on it for your sigil.”

“For Nymeria,” Jensen said reverently.  “Thank you.”  He leaned forward and hugged him around the neck.

Jared’s arms came around his small waist.  He buried his nose in Jensen’s hair, breathing him in.  Tension that he didn’t know he was carrying eased out of his shoulders.  He stood there, cherishing the quiet moment between them.  Then he felt the back of his shirt lift by the neck and he heard the cloth rip.

“Jensen!” he yelled as he pulled away.  Jared felt a large flap of cloth hanging off of his back.  He pulled the shirt off and saw that Jensen had sliced a long gash down the back of the shirt.

Jensen sat there on the workbench holding the dagger and trying to stifle a giggle.

If he were anyone else Jared would have throttled him.  “It’s not funny!  You could have cut me.”

Jensen tried to look appropriately contrite.  “I would never.  I’m very good with a knife.  But now you really can’t wear it like this can you?  You should have listened to me.”  A devious smile crept across his face.

“Must you always have your way?” Jared cried in frustration, throwing his arms out wide for emphasis.

“Yes,” Jensen said simply.  “Don’t be angry.  I’ll fix it later.”

“You can’t sew!”

“You don’t know that.  And neither do I ‘cause I’ve never tried.  But anyway how hard can it be?” Jensen shrugged.  “The stitches might not be particularly neat but it will hold.”

Jared tossed the torn shirt onto the workbench beside Jensen in disgust.  He scowled down at him with his hands on his hips.  “Brat.”

Jensen placed the dagger on top of his ruined shirt and grabbed Jared’s wrist, pulling him closer to so that he stood between his knees.  “I’m sorry,” he said.

“No you’re not.”  Jared was trying very hard to stay mad at him but it wasn’t going well at all.  Not with the way Jensen’s tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip.

“No I’m not,” Jensen replied softly, staring at his chest.  He released Jared’s wrist and experimentally ran light fingertip down from his collarbone to his sternum.

Jared flinched at the touch, not expecting him to be so bold.  “What are you doing?” he asked warily.

“I don’t know,” Jensen giggled.  “I just wanted to touch you.”  He traced the outline of the top ridge of Jared’s stomach muscles.

Jared felt goosebumps rise up his arms.  He put both hands on the workbench, one on either side of Jensen’s thighs.  “Jensen…” he whispered, intending to tell him to stop but not really wanting him to.

Jensen ignored him, continuing to weave his fingertip across the hard lines of Jared’s belly.  His touch was delicate but to Jared it felt like little licks of fire were dancing across his skin.  When Jensen reached his navel he stopped.  Jared let out a rush of breath that he had been holding.

“What’s this?” Jensen asked

The best response that Jared could wrench from his foggy brain was, “Hmmm?”

“This spot,” Jensen said, poking a tiny dark dot half an inch below his navel.  “You have a few of them.  There’s one next to your nose, and on your chin, and another at the bottom of your neck.”

The insides of Jared’s stomach knotted with need at the drag of Jensen's finger over his skin.  He decided that it was past the point where Jensen could be touching him like this safely.  “It’s nothing.  They’re nothing.  Just little moles,” he said as he moved Jensen’s hand away with a wry smile.  “Not all of us are born perfect.”

Jensen’s eyes flew up to meet his.  “I’m not perfect.  Not at all,” he said flatly.

“Maybe not.”  Jared placed both hands on Jensen’s waist.  “But you’ll do.”

Jared kissed him lightly, savoring the initial sensation.  He moved too fast last time and he didn’t want to make that mistake again.  He could be patient.  Jensen was still so young and immature.  He had to remind himself of that more often.

“You have spots too, you know,” he said, giving a small kiss to the end of Jensen’s nose.  “Loads more than me.”

Jensen put his hands on Jared’s chest and slid them up to the back of his neck.  “I do not.”

“You do too. Right here.”  He brushed the tip of his index finger over the bridge of Jensen’s nose and along the tops of his freckled cheekbones.  “Very light.”  Gave a featherlight kiss to Jensen’s right cheek.  “And very small.”  And then the left.  “But very pretty.”

Jensen surged up and pulled Jared down into an enthusiastic kiss in response.  Not at all cooperating with his plan to slow down.

Jared gave in and deepened the kiss, flooding his senses with the taste of him.  He hummed a little noise of pleasure in his throat and skimmed his thumbs along the line of Jensen’s bottom ribs.

Jensen’s fingers dove reflexively into the hair at the back of Jared’s head as he feasted greedily on his mouth.  He whimpered and inched closer, mindlessly pressing his body into Jared’s.

Somewhere in the back of Jared’s mind a nagging little voice warned him back.  He broke off the kiss, struggling for restraint before he lost it entirely.  He was already half-hard but he didn’t want the other boy to know.  Jensen was such an innocent and it was far too soon for such things.

Jensen looked up at him with heavy-lidded eyes as if in a daze.  His lips were slightly swollen and reddened from his kisses.  He looked so enticing, that Jared just couldn’t quit kissing him full stop.  Instead he compromised with himself and changed tactics.  Jared tilted his chin up and started trailing little kisses along his jaw-line.

Jensen’s breath hitched and he gripped his shoulders tightly.

Jared had control again and it amused him greatly to be able to wield it over this wild little creature.  He licked and nipped, teasing Jensen's pale freckled skin until it flushed pink.   When he kissed the soft skin just under Jensen’s earlobe, he heard him gasp and felt tiny fingernails dig into the flesh of his shoulder blades.  He could feel Jensen’s pulse beating fast against his lips and he knew that it was time to let go.

Jared drew back and kissed him lightly on the lips before stepping away.  “I think it’s time to say goodnight, sweetling,” he said gently.

Jensen gripped the edge of the workbench to steady himself as his mind cleared.  “I…yes, think so too.  I feel all woolly-headed,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face.  “I must be more tired than I thought.”  He hopped down from his perch and gathered up his dagger and Jared’s torn shirt.

“You’re really going to try to fix my shirt?” Jared asked.

“Of course.  I said I would didn’t I?”

“Yes, but –“

“Then I will,” he finished.

Jared gave a short chuckle.  He was fairly certain that the results would be disastrous but he was impressed with Jensen’s determination.  “Alright,” he said.  “I can’t wait to see it.”

Jared lifted back the slide of the leather flap and peered out of the doorway.  The men were still out there but their numbers had dwindled some.  The ones who were still awake looked sluggish from drink.  Jensen was stealthy and he should have no problem getting back to his tent undetected.  Jared held the flap open for him and whispered, “Goodnight” as he ducked past.

“Goodnight,” Jensen said smiling, then stole off into the darkness.

Jared watched him go and then glanced over to the fire.  None of the men looked like they had noticed him leave.  He was about to turn back into the forge when out of the corner of his eye he saw Beric.  The undead lord was standing in the opening of his tent across the way from him, watching him dispassionately.

Jared quickly shut the leather flap and took a few steps back from it, half expecting Beric to barge right into the forge demanding an explanation.  Panic swept over him like a sudden splash of cold water.  He waited, silent except for the pounding of his heart.  
  
When nothing happened, Jared told himself that he had imagined it even though deep down he was sure that he hadn’t.  Either way, it didn't seem as though anyone was coming to disturb him at the moment.  Suddenly felt far too exhausted both physically and mentally to think on it anymore that night.

Picking up the water bucket, he walked over to his fire and doused it out.  It died with a long hiss.  Jared threw himself down onto his cot and was asleep before the smoke finished clearing.


	9. Chapter 9

“Here you are. The best cherry pie in the Seven Kingdoms if I do say so myself,” Hot Pie beamed.

He set two large slices of it down on the table in front of Jared and Jensen before cutting himself one. The Inn of the Kneeling Man was quiet and other than two old women by the hearth, they were the only ones there. Jensen hadn’t seen Hot Pie in almost a fortnight. When the Brotherhood had taken them in, Hot Pie quickly discovered that he was not made of the sort of stuff suitable for outlaw life. Tom Sevenstrings had suggested that he might be more comfortable in the village working with allies of the Brotherhood at the inn. Hot Pie was clearly at home here, even more so that he had been in the kitchens at Harrenhal. Here he got to bake whatever he wanted instead of just rolling out dough for others. All Hot Pie needed in the world to be happy was a warm oven to work with and plenty of food to eat. Jensen almost envied him for that.

Jensen took a bite of pie and hummed in appreciation. “I believe you’re right. This is the best cherry pie I’ve ever had at least.”

Jared just nodded in agreement as his mouth was full. He was already halfway through this slice and eyeing the rest of the pie hungrily.

“I told you so. Now, how has Beric been treating you?” Hot Pie asked.

“Very well,” Jared said. “Nearly all of the brothers needed new armor so I’ve been quite busy.”

“Yes, very well,” Jensen said. “But…”

“But what?” Hot Pie asked.

Jensen glanced at Jared who looked at him quizzically. He had been thinking on this for several days but with everything that had been happening between them, he hadn’t wanted to bring it up. “It’s just that I’m worried about my brothers and my mother. And Sansa,” he added. “I need to know what’s happened to them. I didn’t think we’d be here this long.”

“What do you want to do?” Jared asked, his pie now forgotten.

“What I want is to go home to Winterfell but I don’t know if that’s wise anymore. There’s still so far to travel and so much fighting in between here and there. I will not end up in a Lannister prison again,” he said firmly. He’d rather die fighting. Several more names were still on his list and he wasn’t going to just forget them.

“Well, what then?” Hot Pie asked.

Just then Edric Dayne came bursting through the doorway. His blond locks were windblown and his breath was heaving as if he’d been running. “Lord Jensen! Lord Beric sent me to fetch you. They’ve captured the Hound!” he shouted.

“The hound?” At first Jensen didn’t understand what he was saying. Then it registered. Sandor Clegane. That great scarred brute who answered to Joffrey. He might know about Sansa.

Without another word, Jensen jumped to his feet and ran out to the horses that he and Jared had ridden to the inn. Edric and Jared were seconds behind him, mounting their horses and following after him as he rode as fast as he could for the Brotherhood’s encampment. His heart felt like it was beating faster than his mount’s hoof-beats as they drummed upon the ground.

When they reached the camp at last, Jensen pulled up his horse and swung down. The first person he saw was Anguy.

“Where is he? Where is Clegane?” he demanded.

Jared and Edric rode in and jumped down from their horses, both of them with their eyes on Jensen.

“He’s tied up behind Beric’s tent, m’lord” Anguy said. “Thoros is guarding him with his flaming sword. Fire is the only thing that seems to scare him.”

“I want to see him. He might know about my sister.”

“I doubt he’ll talk to you, but he had two sellswords travelling with him and they were not quite so cautious with their words before they died,” Anguy informed him. “They fled King’s Landing with Clegane when it was attacked by Stannis Baratheon. As far as we know, the Lannisters still hold it thanks to the Old Lion and some trick the Imp played. They didn’t say anything about Lady Sansa.”

Jensen’s head was sent swimming with this news. Stannis defeated and Tywin’s war machines prowling the countryside. Where did all this leave his brother Robb? Did Sansa survive the city’s siege?

“I must speak with the Hound,” he insisted, walking quickly towards Beric’s tent. Edric called after him but Jensen ignored him. He heard Jared mutter to Edric to save his breath.

“Beric!” Jensen called out as he approached his tent.

Beric emerged wearing his full armor and carrying his helm. From the new scratches across the chestplate it was evident that he’d been fighting. No doubt at least one of the sellswords met his death by Beric’s blade. “My lord, I’m glad you’re back” he said. “It’s not safe at the moment for you to be in the village. We’ve caught some Lannister men today and there’s no telling if more may be heading our way.”

“Yes, I know. I want to speak to the Hound.”

“I don’t think that’s wise,” he said. “But if you must, I insist that I accompany you.”

Frustrated, Jensen turned and walked around to the rear of the tent with Beric trailing after him.

Sandor was just as enormous and hideously scarred as he had remembered. He sat on the ground tied to a tree with his arms secured behind him. Thoros of Myr stood nearby with his sword set aflame in readiness. The Hound’s hauberk was muddy and he was bleeding from his nose, shoulder, and a large wound on his thigh. Clearly he hadn’t gone easy. He lifted his head and sneered grotesquely. “What have we here? The lost Stark runt,” he said with a huff.

Anger burned in Jensen’s eyes as he glared at him. “Where is my sister?”

Sandor laughed. “I do not waste my time keeping track of spoiled children. I kill them,” he said baring his teeth.

Jensen would not give him the satisfaction of seeing him rattled. “Tell me!” he commanded.

Sandor just stared back at him impassively.

Thoros brought his sword down and held it under the Hound’s neck. The green flames were inches from his chin.

Sandor angled himself as far away from the fire as his binds would allow. He spat at Thoros in defiance but when his beard started to smoke he cried out for Thoros to yield.

“Joffrey’s little songbird is still safe in her cage. She lacked the courage to fly,” he said scowling.

Jensen felt relief wash over him. He walked away from Sandor without a backward glance. Sansa was safe. His sister had never had their mother’s strength but she was cunning in her own way. She knew how to deal with people and make them feel at ease. A skill that Jensen himself had never mastered. As long as Sansa continued to keep her wits about her, perhaps the gods would be good to at least one of the Starks.

“Lord Jensen!” Beric called to him.

Jensen stopped and turned to face him as he approached. “What will become of him?” he asked. He fervently wished to see Clegane beheaded as his father had been. That would feel like a small bit of justice.

Beric set his mouth in a grim line, making his deathly appearance seem even more severe. “The Lord of Light commands that we allow him a trial by combat.”

Jensen was furious, so much so he could bare see straight. “Then your god is a craven. He deserves death!” he yelled. If Clegane won he could go free. How could Beric let his happen?

Beric’s good eye focused on him and burned with rage. His fists clenched but he didn’t strike. “You’re upset,” he ground out. “But I will not have you blaspheme R’hllor’s name in my presence.”

Jensen felt his composure start to crack. He had to make Beric see reason. “Beric, he killed my friend Mycah back in Winterfell and he’s killed many others. He helped the Lannisters burn down villages and slaughter hundreds of people. He stood by when they killed my father. He has to pay with his life!”

Beric stood tall and his loose eye rolled around to focus on Jensen’s face. “I intend to fight him myself and I assure you, he will get what’s coming to him. Whatever R’hllor deems that to be.”

“You’re mad!” Jensen shouted, then turned and ran away from him. He didn’t stop until he was alone in his tent, pacing angrily around the small space.

Moments later, Jared was peeking his head in. “Are you alright?” he asked cautiously.

“No!”

“Do you want me to leave you alone then?” he said watching Jensen pace.

“No,” Jensen admitted begrudgingly. “Come in.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t..,” he ventured, glancing around behind him for who might be watching.

Jensen didn’t have the patience just then to indulge Jared’s paranoia. “Don’t be stupid! Either come in or go away but don’t just stand there like a bloody fool!”

“Right,” Jared said after a short pause. He walked into the tent and stood next to the small cot, looking for all the world like a giant in a faerie’s house.   “So, tell me what happened,” he said patiently.

“They’re going to let him fight! They’re giving him a trial by combat and Beric is going to fight him. Probably get himself killed in the process.”

Jared said nothing. He just watched as Jensen continued to pace and fume inside.

“He’s going to win! I just know he is. He’s twice the size of Beric and far stronger, even with his wounds. He’s going to go free! After everything he’s done, he’s going to go free.”

“You don’t know that,” Jared said calmly.

“He will!” Jensen insisted. “And then he’ll tell the Lannisters where I am and they’ll come for me.”

“You don’t know that,” Jared repeated. “He fled didn’t he? Why would he go back to the Lannisters? I don’t think King Joffrey looks all that kindly on deserters.”

Jensen sat down hard on his cot and felt his temper banked by the logic of Jared’s words. He might be right.

“Why don’t you wait and see what happens,” Jared advised, taking a seat next to him and putting a hand on his shoulder.

Jensen looked up into his soft blue eyes and the well of affection in their depths made him feel a lump lodge itself in his throat. “Let’s leave,” he whispered suddenly. When Jared just stared back at him and said nothing, he continued on in a rush, “We can go, just the two of us. Let’s just leave them all behind. Winterfell is too far with Tywin on the move but we can find Robb’s camp and join him. He’s somewhere near Riverrun I think. He’ll need a good armorer. You’ll like him.”

“And what then?” Jared asked him, suddenly gravely serious.

“What do you mean?” Jensen felt confused. Jared was unnerving him with the abrupt shift in his mood.

“What then? _If_ we find your brother and _if_ he lets me stay – do you really think he’d allow you to consort with a lowborn blacksmith? To share your bed with one? No. No, I’ll not stand by and watch you betrothed to the daughter of some piddling little lord of his choosing.”

Jensen was too stunned to speak. He could feel his cheeks and the tops of his ears burning red. His mouth opened and closed like a perch as his brain fought for something fitting to say. “H-how long have you been thinking about this? Of me and…m-marriage?” he stuttered finally.

“That’s not the point,” Jared continued hurriedly. “Your family would never us to be together! Maybe you don’t care what people think but I’m sure your brother does. If you go back now, they’ll make you marry some pampered little girl with fine clothes and lily-white hands. Do you expect me to sit by and let that happen?”

“Robb would never,” Jensen said, somewhat unsure now. “He wouldn’t.”

“He’s not _just_ your brother anymore, Jensen! He’s king now too! Kings do all sorts of things that most men never would.”

Jensen bit his lip in worry. “You don’t know him like I do,” he said in a small voice. Jared simply had to be wrong. He had to be.

Jared sighed deeply. He ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up at odd angles. “Perhaps you’re right. I don’t know him. And you don’t know that Beric won’t win. So let both just be patient for a while longer until we do know.”

“I’m no good at being patient,” Jensen frowned up at him.

“Lucky you have me then.” Jared took his hand, engulfing it entirely in his own. “I am.”

Jensen tried to smile but it fell somewhat short of the mark. There was so much whirling around in his brain.

Jared didn’t seem satisfied with that however. He leaned in and captured Jensen’s mouth, kissing him slow and sweet until the heat of it consumed Jensen’s mind, burning under his skin and lighting a fire in his belly.

He went willingly when Jared pressed him back on the cot, covering Jensen’s body with the solid weight of him. He loved it. The feel of Jared against him, over him, blanketing him with his heat and his clean earthy scent. They’d only lain together like this once before, kissing and exploring each other with fumbling hands. Even then, Jared had made them stop after far too short a time for Jensen’s liking. He’d felt a heaviness between his legs, an ache that left him desperate and unsatisfied. The weight of Jared’s cock had been pressed against his stomach before he’d pulled away so he knew without a doubt that the other boy had felt the same way. For some reason though Jared had chosen to ignore his own desire. Jensen wasn’t about to let him try and get away with that again.

He pulled at Jared’s tunic between fevered kisses, rucking it up under his arms until Jared was forced to take it off. Jensen practically ripped off his own shirt in the split-second that Jared was occupied with his and then quickly yanked Jared back down to him, eager to feel the other boy’s bare flesh against his own.

He must have caught Jared off guard because the larger boy fell forward with a wobble and a startled oof as he landed on top of him. Instantly Jared levered up on his elbows, holding his weight off of Jensen’s body with a look of shock and dismay as if he expected Jensen to wither underneath him like a crushed flower. “What are you doing? I could have hurt you!”

Jensen dug his fingers into the back of Jared’s shoulders in frustration. “I’m not a girl.”

“What?”

“I’m not a child and I’m not made of glass. Stop treating me like I am.”

Jared’s eyebrows drew together in worry. “You are a child. In body at least if not in your own mind. I don’t want to…corrupt you.”

Jensen couldn’t help but laugh at such a foolish thought. He’d killed a man in cold blood and Jared was still worried about the state of his damned honor. “Don’t be stupid, Jared. I’m young, that’s true. But my thoughts are hardly free from sin.” He squirmed a little against Jared, lifting his hips and rubbing against him without skill but with clear intent.

Jared groaned and dropped his head, burrowing his face against Jensen’s neck. “But your body is yet.”

“For now,” Jensen conceded. “It’s just a matter of time.” He spread his legs a little to get the leverage he needed and rolled his hips into Jared’s. He could feel the thick line of Jared’s cock and his own swelled quickly as he rutted against it. The sensations that he felt spreading outward from his groin made that desperate ache inside him start to build again. “If it’s going to happen anyway, shouldn’t I practice some first?

“Fucking hell.” Jared curled into him slightly, not moving with him exactly but letting it happen all the same.

His breath tickled the sensitive skin of Jensen’s neck and made him shiver with want. Jensen raked his hands down Jared’s flanks, groping at his hips and urging them forward. “Please, Jared.” He didn’t know exactly what he wanted but he knew that Jared was holding back, stubbornly keeping them from what they both needed. At his wits end, he resorted to full-on begging. “Please. I need you. How will I learn what I need to know if you won’t teach me?”

Jared let out something akin to a growl. He latched onto the column of Jensen’s neck with a sucking kiss and sank down on top of him, pressing his long lean body into the cradle of Jensen’s thighs.

Jensen gasped and writhed against him, delighting in the pressure and the blessed friction of Jared’s body that he’d been craving for.

Jared kissed a trail down his neck to the line of his collarbone where the pale skin was flushed with arousal. He ran a hand up the back of Jensen’s right leg and lifted it to curl around his own waist. “Like this.”

Jensen nodded dumbly. He couldn’t seem to summon enough of his brain together to form words.

Finally, Jared began to move. The new position fitted the bulge of his cock against Jensen’s through their breeches and left him intimately aware of every motion of Jared’s body. Big and rough and yet at the same time capable of such tenderness. With each thrust of those powerful hips, pleasure sparked in Jensen’s veins until he was frantic with it.

“Jared, please,” he moaned. “Need to. I-I need to…” Need to what? He didn’t rightly know. It was so much more than he’d ever experienced and yet somehow it wasn’t enough. He could sense it like something just out of his reach. An itch he couldn’t scratch that was going to drive him mad.

Jared quieted him with a kiss. “Hush, sweetling,” he murmured against Jensen’s lips. “I know. I know just what you need.”

He grabbed Jensen’s other leg and forced it up around his waist so that Jensen was spread open, completely exposed if not for the thin fabric of his breeches. Then Jared picked speed, thrusting against Jensen with a hard and fast pace.

Jensen felt his balls draw up close to his body and pleasure sparked white fire behind his eyes. His scream was lost inside Jared’s mouth as he came, spurting sticky warm wetness against his stomach and the inside of his pants. His mind spun as his body jerked helplessly against the onslaught of sensation flooding through it.

Distantly, he heard Jared’s breath hitch and felt the sweat-slicked muscles beneath his hands contact. A few more rapid-fire thrusts and then Jared was mashing their lips together with a groan. He collapsed against Jensen, planting his forehead against the flat of Jensen’s shoulder and panting hard. Jensen could feel Jared’s heart racing. It was almost as fast as his own.

Jensen felt blissfully sated all the way down to his bones, which he was pretty sure had all but melted like snow. The only thing that kept him rooted to his body was the crushing bulk of Jared on top of him.

Jared lifted his head, his hair a sweat-matted mess across his forehead. “Are you alright?”

“Very much so,” Jensen said with a lazy smile. “Except that I have a bull lying on my chest.”

Jared snorted out a laugh but still he lifted himself up onto his elbows. “First you complain that I’m coddling you and then you complain that I’m crushing you. Is there no pleasing you at all?”

Jensen smoothed back his hair and kissed him lightly. “Were you not paying attention just now? Because I’m fairly sure you’ve already found one way.”

Jared rolled his eyes and shook his head. He was about to say something but suddenly the men’s voices outside grew louder.

Jensen’s eyes flew open wide.

Jared held an index finger to his mouth, signaling for Jensen to stay quiet. Quickly and silently he got up and pulled his tunic over his head. He tossed Jensen his shirt and then crept up to thin line of light poking through the front flaps of the tent to peer outside. “It’s alright. Just Anguy stirring up the men. I think they’re starting soon,” he whispered.

It took a moment for Jensen’s panic to subside and his sex-addled brain to figure out what he was referring to. The trial. The Hound’s trial by combat was about to get underway. Jensen scrambled to put himself back together, trying not to think about the steadily cooling mess in his pants. There wasn’t time to see to it now.

He and Jared hurried out to where the men where the men were gathering by Beric’s tent. They formed a loose circle around the Hound, who had been released from his tethers and had been given back his longsword and shield in order to defend himself. The Hound stood rooted to one spot like a great oak tree. There was no emotion showing through on what part of his face was still capable of it. The metal jaws of his dog’s head helm were opened wide in a vicious looking snarl. Beric strode out of his tent and met the Hound in the middle of the circle. He carried a shield and the Thoros’s flaming sword. Jensen felt hopeful when he saw it, knowing that Clegane’s fear of fire would be Beric’s strongest weapon.

The red priest himself stepped forward to preside over the contest. “Sandor Clegane!” he bellowed. “You stand accused of atrocities against the people of the realm. By the grace of the R’hllor, Lord of Light, the God of Flame and Shadow, you will be given a trial by combat. According to His law, if you succeed you will have received His mercy and may go free. If you fail, you will atone for your treachery with your life. Sirs, you may begin!”

The contenders both lowered the visors on their helmets and raised their swords. They circled each other a few times, trying to sort out the other’s weaknesses. When their swords met, the ring of steel against steel was deafening. Clegane was incredibly strong, but Beric was faster than he looked and Jensen saw Sandor flinching whenever the fire got too close to him. With every blow of Sandor’s that hit it’s mark, Beric shuttered with the intensity of the impact.

He must move faster, Jensen thought as he wrung his hands together with anxiety. Beric must get the flame of his sword in closer to Sandor if he hopes to win.  

Beric slashed at Clegane’s shield over and over again until it caught fire. The Hound was forced to drop it, leaving him more exposed. The Brotherhood erupted in a cheer.

Enraged, Clegane charged forward swinging his longsword with all his might. Beric tried to deflect the blow with his shield but the force of the blow sent the shield flying. Several of the men cried out for their beloved lord. Still the Hound came at him, growling in anger. Beric managed to get one good hit in to Sandor’s left arm before he was struck again. This time Sandor’s blade buried itself in Beric’s shoulder, cleaving him down to the breastbone.

As Sandor chopped down the lord, his own arm ignited where Beric’s sword last hit. Beric fell to his knees with his eyes closed as Sandor screamed in pain and terror as his arm burned. He tried to slap at the flames and finally threw himself to the ground, smothering his arm in the dirt in order to put it out.

Beric leaned forward as if to fall, but Thoros rushed forward to catch him. The lord’s face, neck, and shoulder were splattered red. The wound in his shoulder was profound. Thoros helped him to lie back before the life rushed out of him entirely. Lord Beric had fallen and the Hound was the victor.

Jensen felt like he had been punched in the gut.

A group of men attended to Beric, carrying him into his tent. Edric ran after them with tears in his eyes. The rest of them just stood there dumbfounded at what they’d just witnessed.

Clegane regained his feet and grabbed his sword, ready in case one of them tried to avenge Beric on the spot. No one stepped forward.

Jensen turned toward Jared, who put a comforting arm around his shoulders, for once not caring who saw.

“I’ll be taking my leave now,” Sandor said aloud. “Fetch me my horse and my gold.”

“You can have your sodding horse!” Notch called out. “But the gold stays here!”

The rest of the men murmured in agreement.

“I won my freedom. The gold belongs to me by right and so I’ll take it,” Sandor said menacingly.

“Try it,” Dennant warned. “Anguy will have ten arrows in your neck before you can raise your sword.”

Anguy drew his bow, ready to back up Dennant’s threat.

Thoros reappeared from Beric’s tent. His hands were covered in the lord’s blood. “Lord Beric is dead,” he proclaimed. “R’hllor has spared Sandor Clegane and so he will be free to leave.”

Sandor sheathed his sword and took off his helm, accepting his victory.

“However,” the priest continued with a grimace, “his gold remains with us. It will be a donation to our cause in exchange for our hospitality.”

The Hound boiled with murderous rage. “I’ll see you in hell!” he told Thoros. He grabbed the reins of his horse from Tom Sevenstrings, mounting awkwardly with his injured arm, and then galloped away as fast as the poor beast could carry him.

The men dispersed, and soon Jensen and Jared were the only ones standing nearby where Beric had fallen. Jensen found himself staring a small pool of blood in the dirt. It helped somehow. If he focused really hard he could almost feel the rest of his emotions fold in and collapse on themselves, tucking themselves neatly away in his mind where they couldn’t touch him.

“Jensen?” Jared said. There was more than a little concern in his voice.

“He had no chance. I told you. I knew,” Jensen said without looking at him. “The Hound is free again and now no one who crosses his path will be safe.”


	10. Chapter 10

Jared lay awake in his cot that night staring up at the rough stone ceiling of the forge. The look on Jensen’s face after the Hound had defeated Lord Beric was haunting him. He hadn’t seen him look so utterly vacant of emotion since Harrenhal. When Jensen got like that it was as if he went to a place where nothing could touch him.  A place where Jared couldn’t follow, and it killed him to know that. 

Jensen had said that he wanted to leave and find his brother’s camp. He wanted Jared to go with him, but Jared was afraid that as soon as they left the protective confines of the Brotherhood that the outside world would soon come between them. In his rational mind, he knew that there was little hope for them. But here, it felt like the rules didn’t apply and anything was possible.

“Jared, lad” someone called.

Jared sat up as Thoros appeared in the doorway. “What is it?” He was a little surprised as the red priest was not a frequent visitor to his forge.

“Beric wants to see you” Thoros said. He waited for Jared to rise and pull on his boots.

Just hours ago, Beric had risen from his bed. He had been dead and now he walked among them. Thoros had worked his magic and rescued Beric from the hounds of Hell yet again. Some of the men who had been with the Brotherhood for a long time seemed strangely unaffected by this and were just grateful to see their lord again. Others who had no experience with such dark dealings were more nervous around him than ever before. Jared still wasn’t sure how he felt about it. He likely owed Beric is life for taking him and Jensen and Hot Pie in as he had.

He followed Thoros out into the dark of night and they walked together towards Beric’s tent which was the only one still illuminated by lamplight.

“How is he?” Jared asked cautiously.

Thoros grimaced. “In truth, he is not himself. Not as I have known him. I have dragged him back from the underworld many times now and each time he suffers in both body and soul. I don’t think he would survive the journey again. As it is…the fire that once shone so brightly in his heart now flickers low.”

Jared entered Beric’s tent while Thoros waited outside. Apparently Beric wanted to see him alone.

“Ah, thank you for coming so late” Beric said to him in welcome.

As Jared’s eyes adjusted to the lamplight, he saw Beric sitting on a camp chair beside a roughly made table. He was writing with quill and link. The lord’s wound was slightly visible at the neck of this tunic and Jared tried not to stare at it. He thought he could see the white glint of bone.

“Please, sit,” Beric said, motioning to an empty stool opposite him.

“You wanted to speak with me, m’lord?” Jared asked.

“Yes.” Beric folded the paper he had been writing on and sealing it closed with candle wax. “I wanted to talk with you about Lord Jensen.”

Jared shifted uncomfortably in his seat. This was the moment he’d been fearing ever since that night he’d seen Beric watching Jensen leave his forge. There hadn’t been even a whisper about it since but Jared tried to make sure they were careful. Perhaps not as careful as he’d intended considering what they’d done in Jensen’s tent that very afternoon. Had someone overheard them? Had Beric merely been toying with them, lulling them into complacency until he had some proof of their shame?

A cold sweat broke out over Jared’s skin. He imagined himself dangling from the end of rope. “W-what about him, m’lord?”

Beric leaned back in his chair with his good eye on Jared while the other seemed to be listing somewhere to his left. “I am only half blind, lad. And I see more and have seen more than most men ever will. I know there is something between you.”   
  
When Jared began to protest, Beric merely raised his hand to silence him. “Do not mistake my meaning. The Faith of the Seven may condemn such sins of the flesh but the Lord of Light does not concern himself with corporeal trappings. His eye looks deeper, boy. Right to the very spark of your soul. He knows, as do I, that you are not born of darkness.” He leaned forward, his good eye staring at Jared intently. “You are alive with the light of His fiery grace, my son.”

Jared suddenly found himself close to tears. He felt so humbled by Beric’s words, so overwhelmed with gratitude and relief, and at the same time so ashamed of how he’d underestimated the man.

“Unfortunately,” Beric continued, “Few in this kingdom have accepted R’hilor as the one true god. They hold to The Seven or like the Northmen they pray to their sacred weirwood trees carved with the faces of pagan gods. They let themselves be ruled by fear and ignorance. A land full of sheep presided over by wolves. This is the world we live in.” He frowned, his mouth twisting in his corpse-pale face. “This is why I feel I must intervene, for your sake as well as for Jensen’s.”

“My lord?” Dread began to creep back into Jared mind at Beric’s grim tone.

“I do not doubt that your intentions are honorable. Only misguided. It’s true that there are some men who have been able to hide their true selves in plain sight and have lived together happily enough. But you Jared, you have a double burden.” Beric sat back in his chair with a small shake of his head. “The harshness of our reality is that a man’s station dictates his future. His future is not one in which you could ever hope to share. He is a nobleman. You are a blacksmith. I’m sorry my young friend but you reach too high.”

Jared’s mind spun, unwilling to accept the truth yet unable to deny the fact of it. He struggled to explain himself. “I know what he is, m’lord. I know that I don’t deserve him. Believe me I do. But – “

“But you love him,” Beric finished.

Jared felt a searing pain in his chest and he knew that Beric was right. How had he let this happen? Had he been in love with Jensen this whole time?

Damn him! Jared pressed the heel of his palm into the ache, trying feebly to massage it away. There was no hope for it. Jensen had burst into his life and wrecked him forever. “Yes. Yes, m’lord,” he choked out.

Beric pursed his thin white lips. “It matters not,” he said. “I’ve received a message from a friend of mine at The Twins who serves House Frey. Robb Stark as arrived there with his company of men. I write to him now to let him know that Jensen has been found.” Beric pointed to the scattered pages on his table. “I would have wrote sooner had I been sure of his army’s location. They’ve tasted defeat at last and they’ve been on the run, trying to regroup their forces. It appears that Robb has formed an allegiance with the Freys and offers repayment for their support with the promise of marriage to unite their houses. He has already secured the betrothal of his uncle Edmure Tully to one of the Frey heirs. Do you suppose he would hesitate to do the same with his own brother once he has the chance?”

Jared felt nauseous. He rested his head in his hands, hoping to make his vision stop spinning.

“So you see there is no hope for it, my boy,” Beric continued. “You’d best put it out of your mind.”

“Does Jensen know?” Jared asked weakly.

“No. I don’t think he does. It’s not my place to tell him. Allegiances change so quickly in times of war. Especially when dealing with Freys. Who’s to say that by morning he won’t be pledged to someone else entirely? But it’s clear that the Starks are desperate now and willing to do whatever it takes to gain them advantage in this bloody game. It’s the fate of first-born sons to inherit their father’s legacy and for second-born sons to serve what needs their house requires of them. Lord Jensen, for all his bravado, will be no different.”

Jared picked up his head and stared about him dumbly without seeing. Everything he was afraid of happening was coming true. Jensen was going to be betrothed to a daughter of Lord Frey and he could do nothing about it. It would only be a matter of time before Jensen would be married off Jared would be left behind. Alone again.

“What am I supposed to do?” Jared asked looking to Beric.

“Stay here. Join us,” Beric replied. “You’ve become a great help to us and I know you’re capable of much more if you have the courage. We need your strength and your loyalty. Swear your sword to me and I will make you one of my knights.”

A knight? Jared had never dared hope so much for himself, and yet in the light of everything else it seemed of little importance. What did he care if anyone called him sir? It wouldn’t put food in his belly. Even with a knighthood he’d still be a pauper. Nowhere near Jensen’s equal.

“Thank you, m’lord. Can I have some time to think on it?”

“Of course” Beric said. “Know that you’re welcome among us for as long as you want, whatever you decide.”

“Thank you, m’lord,” Jared replied. He rose and walked back to his forge as if in a trance.

That night, he lay awake hour after hour thinking about the offer that Beric had made him. And about Jensen. As much as Jared loved him, he saw no way forward that allowed them to leave together as he wanted. He hoped that Jensen would understand. Just as morning finally came, Jared’s body finally won over his mind and he fell fast asleep.

When he awoke it was already mid-afternoon. He sat up from his cot groggily and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. When he was able to focus them, he saw Jensen sitting on the stool by the workbench and watching him. At first Jared was startled, thinking it was a dream or trick of his mind. He blinked a few times and saw Jensen’s brow knit in a frown.  Then he knew it was really him.

“Seven hells!” he shouted. “Jensen, what are you doing in here?”

“I came looking for you and found you here sleeping the day away, you lazy oaf!” he replied hotly.

“Why didn’t you wake me then?” Jared blessed the gods for the fact that he had fallen asleep in his clothes.

Jensen hesitated at that and bit his lip. “You looked so…peaceful,” he said. “Did you know you snore?”

“I do not,” Jared said indignantly.

“Yes you do. When you lie on your back. You sound like a boar.”

“You look like a boar,” Jared shot back.

“I do not. You said I was pretty. Or is it that you think boars are pretty?” Jensen said smirking at him.

Jared hadn’t been awake more than a few minutes and Jensen already had him frustrated. How was that possible?

He ran a hand through his messy hair in exasperation.  "Jensen, stop now. What did you want to see me about?”

Jensen was silent for a few moments, clearly struggling with how to say whatever was on his mind. “I’m leaving tomorrow,” he said finally. “Beric told me he found out where Robb is and he’s going to help me get there.”

“Don’t. Please don’t,” Jared said, suddenly panicked. Everything was changing too fast. Jensen was going to slip away from him and he could do nothing to fix it.

“I want you to come with me. Like I said, you can make armor for Robb and his knights and we’ll get to see each other all the time," Jensen said hopefully.  "When it’s safe we can go to Winterfell and you can meet my mother and my brothers. Maybe we’ll have Sansa back by then too."

Jared snatched him up from the stool to cradle the smaller boy his lap. He wrapped his arms around Jensen and hugged him tight, peppering his face and neck with kisses. He felt like he was drowning and Jensen was sweet fresh air. “Please,” he begged in between kisses. “Please. Stay with me. Don’t go. Don’t leave me. Please.”

“I..I have to!” Jensen said breathlessly. “They’re my family. They need me. Come with me, Jared. It’ll be alright. Just come with me.”

Jared squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face in the crook of Jensen’s neck. He fought for control over the lump in this throat. “I can’t. Please Jensen, stay here with me. Beric said he’d make me a knight. I’ll fight for him and I’ll win my honor. Then maybe I’ll be worthy of you. Then maybe we can make our own way.”

Jensen pushed back from him and shook his head in denial, not understanding or maybe just not accepting what he was saying.

Jared grabbed Jensen’s upper arms tightly, forcing him to look him in the eye. “I love you, you idiot! Even though the gods may damn me for it. Do you love me?” he demanded fiercely.

He watched as tears formed in Jensen’s eyes. “Yes,” Jensen replied meekly.

Jared knew he should be happy to hear the words spoken but somehow it just made everything about their situation that much more tragic.  He rested his forehead against Jensen’s. “Don’t you see? If you go back your brother will never let us be together.”

Jensen wriggled in his grasp. “He will!” he insisted stubbornly. “Robb’s not like the rest of them! He’s King of the North now! He makes the rules now and he can do anything! Believe me, Jared, please! Trust me!”

Jared let his hands drop from Jensen’s arms and shook his head sadly. It felt like his heart was breaking apart.  The hopelessness of it all was finally crushing in on him.  Jensen didn’t understand and he didn’t even seem to want to.

Jared couldn’t bear to tell him about Beric’s prediction for what Robb had in store for him. Jensen loved his brother so much and had so much faith in him. Jared wanted to let him have that for just a while longer. Better that Jensen should lose faith in him instead. Better that he should hate him, so that Jensen could forget him and have a chance to be happy.

“No,” Jared said softly. “I’m sorry, but I can’t. I’m staying here.”

Jensen sprang up and stood facing him, anger and hurt making the tears fall from his eyes. “Don’t do this! Don’t make me choose. They’re my _family_!” His chest was rising and falling rapidly as he tried and failed to hold back a sob. “You don’t understand. You don’t understand because you don’t _have_ a family, you stupid bull-headed bastard!”

Jared felt as if Jensen had punched him in the face. He had heard such things all his life but never from him - the one he cared for most.

He saw the look of shock appear on Jensen’s face when he realized what he’d just said and then he saw what he recognized as pity. The pity in Jensen’s eyes was what had him seeing red.

Jared was so angry and so hurt, all he wanted to do was destroy something. In that moment he didn’t care at all what - or who - that something was, and a small part of his brain was deeply terrified of that fact. He jumped to his feet, his fists bunched and his teeth clenching. He needed to get away from Jensen, quickly. He strode out of the forge without another word, leaving the other boy behind.

Jensen called after him but his cries fell on deaf ears.

Jared walked and walked until he was deep in the woods and knew that he was alone. The rage inside of him felt like a snarling beast that needed to be set loose before it ripped him to shreds. He picked up a fallen branch and swung it with all his might at a nearby tree. It splintered on impact with a loud crack. Not satisfied, he starting punching savagely at the bark of the tree, roaring out his anger. At Jensen. At himself. At the world for destroying the only good thing in his life.

He didn’t notice when his knuckles broke open and bled. It wasn’t until he felt the bones in his left hand snap that he stopped long enough to breathe through the pain and wipe the hot tears from his eyes. The pain brought him back to his senses. He slumped down heavily against the base of the battered tree, thoroughly spent. He stayed there long into the night, alone with his thoughts.

He knew what he would have to do come morning. He prayed to every god that he had ever heard of that he would have the strength to let Jensen go.


	11. Chapter 11

When morning came, Jensen squinted at the rays of sun prodding through the flaps of his tent with red-rimmed eyes. His head was pounding and he felt utterly drained. He had been up all night going over his fight with Jared. What he had said. What Jared had said. What he had _called_ him. Finally his body had just taken over and drowned his frantic mind in sleep.

Jensen lay on his cot curled up tight in a ball, not wanting to move. He could hear the men outside going about their daily routines which kept their camp running smoothly. Some gathered firewood while others hauled buckets of water. Soon enough there would be porridge in the pot for everyone to share. His stomach growled meekly at the thought but he wasn’t yet ready to face the day.

He was supposed to be leaving soon for The Twins were he would finally be reunited with his brother Robb. Beric had offered him a few men to act as his escort, Edric being the first to offer himself for the task. He should be overjoyed but he didn’t want to go and leave Jared, especially like this. Jared had said that Beric would make him a knight but to Jensen that just didn’t feel right at all. Jared was no knight. He didn’t care for war or politics. Jensen had to try to convince him to come with him to The Twins where they would both be truly safe. They could stay together then like they were meant to be. He would just have to make Robb understand.

Part of Jensen still felt very much like the naive little boy that he once was at Winterfell, which was why he was more than happy to hold on to the fantasy that everything would somehow sort itself out. Robb would see how wonderful Jared was and let him stay. Jensen could fight in battle right alongside him and when the war was over they would all go back to Winterfell together. Jared could make armor and they could go riding together every day. Jensen could teach him everything that his old swordmaster had taught him and Jared could kiss him breathless whenever he wanted to.

Jensen rose and grabbed his waterskin. He drank deeply and then splashed his face and neck with water, frowning to himself at his own childish thoughts as he wiped the droplets from his eyes. If he was really honest with himself he knew it wouldn’t be as easy as all that, but he felt in his bones that being separated from Jared was not the answer. They had faced so much together already. Surely if they could just hold on to each other just a little while longer they’d come through like they always had. Jensen wasn’t going to give up on that hope without a fight.

He grabbed onto a wave of stubborn determination like a lifeline and channeled it into packing up his things, gathering his few personal belongings up in a simple burlap sack. When he was nearly finished he came upon the dagger that Jared had made for him. He rubbed his thumb over the face of the direwolf on its handle thoughtfully.

Jensen had never been in love before so he didn’t know if this is what it was supposed to feel like. It was the closest word he could think of to describe how he felt when he was in Jared’s arms. He made him feel happy and excited, comforted and safe. He had felt this way even before they had kissed but now it was so much more intense that it half frightened him. Jared said that he loved him. Jensen hoped that he loved him enough to forgive him for calling him a bastard.   For some reason, Jared felt like the manner of his birth was a personal failing and in the heat of the moment Jensen had tossed it up in his face. As soon as the words had come out of his mouth he realized how deeply he had cut him. He wished more than anything that he could take it back. The best he could do now was to try and apologize. Jensen shoved the dagger into his sack and cinched it closed. Hopefully Jared was in a forgiving mood.

Determined not to let his nerves talk him out of it, he headed out towards the forge. He didn’t know what he was going to say exactly but he had to try something. Jared had to listen to reason.

Jensen walked past the men as they were sitting around eating their breakfast, not stopping to speak to anyone. As he neared the forge, he saw that there was no smoke rising from the hole in its roof as there usually was. Jared usually would have had the forge’s fire lit by now.

“Jared!” he called out.

When no answer came, Jensen tentatively crept inside. The forge was cold and Jared was nowhere to be seen. Confusion followed by a heavy sense of dread swamped over him. When Jared had left last night, he had gone out somewhere into the forest. Could he still be out there? If so, why hadn’t he returned? He didn’t even have his sword with him. He had been so angry that he’d been reckless enough to leave it behind. Images of Jared lying hurt and alone in the woods flashed through Jensen’s mind. He ran out of the forge in a panic.

When Jensen reached his tent he snatched up Needle and his waterskin, intent on finding Jared. He darted out of his tent ready to do just that when something he spotted in the corner of his eye made him stop short.

It was Jared. He was walking out of Beric’s tent with Beric’s hand on his shoulder. Relief washed over Jensen. He was alright.

Yet still, something felt very very wrong. Jared’s left hand was wrapped tight in bandages. His face was blank but his eyes showed what looked like defeat. Jensen felt himself being pulled toward him, but stopped himself from rushing right up to Jared and demanding an explanation when Beric halted and spoke to the men, his hand still on Jared’s shoulder.

“Brothers! Gather ‘round. We have a new recruit.” Beric smiled down at Jared like a farmer with his prized mule.

Jensen’s stomach dropped and his mind went numb. He didn’t want to believe what he was seeing.

The men circled around Beric and Jared. Some were clearly surprised but most just looked pleased and proud of the young man they had all come to respect. Notch in particular was almost beaming. Jared knelt with his eyes downcast as Beric unsheathed his sword.

Jensen wanted to shout and rush at them but he was dumbstruck. How could Jared do this? He knew that Jensen was supposed to be leaving for The Twins. He should be going with him, not pledging himself to Beric. He hadn’t even allowed them both a chance to talk it out first. To Jensen it felt like Jared was abandoning him. Like he was giving up on them. It felt like betrayal.

Beric held his sword above Jared’s head. “Jared Waters. Do you swear your sword freely to my service?”

“I so swear,” Jared said, flicking his eyes upward. He looked around at the crowd of men. When his gaze met Jensen’s, he stopped and stared back at him.  

“Do you swear your allegiance to these men, the Brotherhood Without Banners?”

“I so swear,” Jared repeated, his eyes never leaving Jensen’s face.

“Do you swear to protect the weak, strike down the wicked, and always conduct yourself with honor?”

“I so swear.”

“Then be henceforth known as Ser Jared Waters of the Hollow Hill,” Beric proclaimed as he touched his sword to Jared’s right shoulder. “Rise, Ser Jared!”

The men erupted in cheers and clapped Jared on the back roughly as he stood. Jared was smiling a little at their enthusiastic reaction but it didn’t reach quite his eyes.

Jensen felt sick. He turned away and ran back into his tent, unable to bear looking at Jared anymore. He was a liar. A coward and a traitor. Jared couldn’t really love him if he was able to give them up so coldly and Jensen didn’t want to spend one more minute there where he was. Beric could keep his damn escorts. He would leave immediately. Jensen bit back tears as he grabbed his burlap sack up off of his cot. He refused to cry over a stupid boy who clearly didn’t love him after all.

Not wanting to be stopped, Jensen carefully crept around the fringes of the camp and kept out of sight as much as possible. When he reached the horses, he saddled the small speckled mare and led her away slowly so as not to attract attention. As soon as he had walked far enough into the woods that he could no longer hear the voices of the men, he mounted his horse and road hard towards the village.

Wind whipped at his face and stole the tears from Jensen’s eyes. The trail ahead was a mere blur of greens and earthy brown. The mare beneath him and what little wits she had were the only things keeping him from crashing headfirst into a tree as they raced through the woods at breakneck speed. Meanwhile, his mind was racing even faster. He was certain that if he stopped at the inn Hot Pie would give him some food and supplies. He’d most likely have to spin a lie about where he was going and why. If he told the truth about what he was doing Hot Pie would just get upset and tell on him. Jensen didn’t want that. He just desperately wanted to be left alone.

And besides, who cared anymore whether he told a lie or not? He had been fooling himself thinking that Jared and Hot Pie were his new pack, his new family. Hot Pie had gone his own way and Jared…well, Jared was a liar too. He didn’t need to listen to either one of them. He didn’t owe them anything. They weren’t his pack. Not anymore.

When he finally reached the inn, Jensen jumped down and tied his mare the hitching post next to a great black stallion. He was so engrossed in his own thoughts that it took him completely by surprise when the stallion bared his teeth and stomped the ground, nearly knocking him down in the process. Jensen was jolted back into the moment by the close call. He took a step back hesitantly, not sure if his mare would be safe left next to such a monster. Then Jensen got a better look at the beast and was shocked to find that he recognized it. The stallion was Stranger, _the Hound’s mount_.

Jensen backed away from him terrified. Suddenly, he collided with a hard wall of chainmail behind him. He turned and saw the scarred flesh of his attacker’s face just seconds before the pommel of a sword came crashing down against his temple.

Then there was nothing but darkness.


	12. Chapter 12

“Jared!”

Edric yelled his name as he came running towards him. Jared and a few of the other men were sitting around toasting his new knighthood with a flask of strongwine. Jared’s cheeks were already pink from the alcohol and he had been well on his way to drinking himself numb until Edric’s sudden interruption.

“Ho there! It’s _Ser_ Jared now,” Notch said grinning.

Edric ignored him, his eyes wide in panic. “It’s Jensen.”

Jared shot up, anxiety sobering him like a splash of icy water. “What happened? Is he alright?”

“He’s gone! I went to his tent to tell him to make ready to leave for The Twins, but when I got there it was empty. He’s nowhere to be found. Beric wants you, Anguy, Lem, and Mudge to go after him.”

Without another word, Jared ran to grab his sword. His mind had simply shutdown and was driving his body forward like a puppet on strings. His only thought was for Jensen.

“I’m coming too!” Edric insisted, while Anguy, Lem, and Mudge hurried away to saddle their horses.

Jared didn’t comment. He wasn’t going to waste a moment arguing with that fool Dayne while Jensen was out there somewhere alone. Horrible visions of him being attacked by vicious outlaws and Lannister thugs chased Jared to his forge where he found his sword. He slung the swordbelt over his shoulder as he ran back towards the horses where Anguy already one saddled and waiting for him.

“One of the mares was found missing. He must have taken it and went off on his own,” Edric said as he cinched his saddle tight. “Why would he do such a thing?”

Jared knew full well why Jensen had run off. It was all his fault. He mounted his horse and circled around in front of the other men. “If he’s on his way to the Twins he would have stopped at the Inn of the Kneeling Man before he left. He wouldn’t go without saying goodbye to Hot Pie.”

“Are you sure, lad?” Lem asked him skeptically. “He didn’t stop to say goodbye to anyone here.”

Jared shook his head. “I’m sure of it.” He turned his horse and road off with the other men close behind him. Hot Pie was part of Jensen’s pack just as he had been. Jensen wouldn’t just leave him without a word. Once Jared would have sworn on his life that Jensen would never abandon him either, but this time he’d done the leaving first hadn’t he? Now their little pack was broken apart and that was his fault too.  

They raced through the woods towards the inn, dodging through the trees. The wind stung at Jared’s eyes and low hanging branches whipped by inches away from his face but he didn’t care one bit.

Damn you Jensen, Jared thought to himself. Always so reckless and impulsive. He should have known Jensen would do something like this. He had every right to be angry with him. Jared was angry with himself even though he knew that it had to be done. He couldn’t have gone with him and lived in abject misery while Jensen was betrothed to another. The best thing for both of them was for Jensen to put him out of his mind for good. Jared had wanted him to hate him and he’d gotten his wish. But he hadn’t anticipated this.

Jared cursed him as he urged his horse on. He cursed himself just as vehemently. When the inn was in sight, he jumped down from his mount before it even came to a full stop and ran inside. It was crowded with people who all looked up as he burst in. Quickly he scanned their faces but found no one he recognized.

“Jensen!” he called out, not caring about the slight pleading tone his voice took. He was prepared to put up with any amount of spiteful teasing, rage, or even violence as long as Jensen was safe. However it was Hot Pie, not Jensen who came rushing up to meet him.

“Hot Pie, where’s Jensen?” he demanded. “Has he been here?”

“Jared! No, I haven’t seen him. Is he in trouble?” Hot Pie replied with concern furrowing his brow.

“He’s gone. No one knows where he’s at. Maybe heading towards the Twins but…”

“Any luck?” Mudge said as he and the rest of the men came walking in behind Jared.

“No,” he replied. “I don’t understand…” He had felt so certain that Jensen would have stopped here.

“I was ready to send you lot a message but since you’re here – I saw the Hound,” Hot Pie told them.

Jared felt a sick knot of dread settle in his stomach at the news.

“The Hound?” Lem said. “Here at the inn?”

“He was here not too long ago. Came in and had himself some food and drink but didn’t speak to no one. I know Beric set him free and all but I thought he should know that he was still hanging about. Don’t know where he was headed.”

“He has him,” Jared concluded with a dark certainty. He couldn’t say why but he felt it in his bones that it was true.  

“Hang on lad, you don’t know that,” Anguy said. “He might not have come this way at all.”

“I know! I know he’s got him. He told me himself when the Hound was Beric’s prisoner that he was afraid he’d get away and report him to the Lannisters. We should have killed him when we had the chance. If he found Jensen alone, do you really think he’d hesitate to snatch him up and bring him to them himself?” Jared thought back to Jensen pacing around his tent saying those exact words to him. He should have listened to him then. He should have done something.

Anguy nodded as he absorbed what Jared had said. “Alright then. The closest Lannister stronghold is Harrenhal. If Clegane has him, he may have taken him back there. We’ll set out that way and see if we can’t get to them first.”

The men walked out and began to mount up. Hot Pie placed a hand on Jared’s arm. “Find him. Find him and bring him back safe.”

“I will,” Jared promised him. “If he hurts him, I’ll kill him myself.”

They rode all day and talked to every sympathetic soul they came across. There was no trace of the Hound or of Jensen. The men wanted to return to camp and set out again at first light but Jared refused to go with them. He was beyond reason and eventually they had to leave him behind while they returned to report back to Beric.

Jared went on alone, wandering from forest to farm and back again all through the night. He eventually had to stop before his horse gave out beneath him. Even then he could not find rest. His broken hand was throbbing with pain but it was nothing compared to the anguish in his heart. He was tormented by the look on Jensen’s face when he had given his oath to the Brotherhood. There had been so much pain in the younger boy’s eyes. Jared had never thought that he was capable of hurting someone so deeply, especially not Jensen. He was the only one who had ever truly cared about him and this was how he had repaid his trust. He thought about Jensen’s smile, his scent, the feel of his lips. Fleeting moments of happiness that now tasted bittersweet in his mouth.

When his horse was rested enough to continue, he started out again. By midday the hard riding, lack of food, and lack of sleep finally caught up with him. He was swaying in his saddle as his horse picked its way down the side of a steep grassy incline. When it stumbled forward onto more level ground, Jared tumbled bonelessly to the earth in exhaustion. He didn’t even try to move. He just lay where he fell in the tall grass, shut his eyes, and submitted to the blackness.

In his dreams, Jensen was laughing.  

~~~

Leather. The first thing that registered in Jensen’s disoriented mind when he crawled back to consciousness was the smell of leather and the rough feel of horsehair against his cheek. He opened his eyes and saw the ground flying past underneath him. His head was throbbing dully and the movement of the horse was making it no better. He realized that he was lying across the saddle of his pony with his hands and feet bound as it was being led. It took him another few moments to remember why. When he did, he struggled against his ties which only succeeded in landing him in the grass below with a thud. Almost instantly there was a large dark shape towering over him which blocked out the sun.

“So you’re awake then. Good. Now you can ride properly.”

Jensen blinked up at the enormous shape until his eyes were able to focus. Sandor Clegane. He was sitting atop his mount Stranger and glaring down at him with disdain.

“I’m not going anywhere with you!” Jensen yelled.

Sandor dismounted and drew a knife. Jensen shrank back in fear as he approached with it. His captor grabbed his wrist and leaned in close.

“You’ll do as I say or I’ll carve your skin off,” Sandor threatened.

Jensen was terrified but he remembered what Syrio had taught him. _Fear cuts deeper than swords_. He wouldn’t let his kidnapper win that way.

“If you were going to kill me, you would have done it already,” he reasoned. “So you must need me alive.”

“Cunning little pup,” Sandor said with half a smirk on his scarred face. “But I needn’t kill you to separate flesh from bone. You’d be surprised what a person can live through.”

Jensen felt the bile rise in his throat but he schooled his face to keep his revulsion hidden. “Where are you taking me?” he demanded.

“To the Twins. To see your blasted brother. We’ll see just how much you’re worth to him.” The older man cut his ties, dragged him up to his feet, and pushed him roughly towards his horse. “Now ride.”

Jensen climbed back up into his saddle and rubbed his wrists where the rope had scratched them raw. Robb. He was taking him to Robb. It wasn’t at all how he’d expected to reach his brother but it was far better than ended up a prisoner of the Lannister’s again.

Sandor swung his enormous bulk up onto Stranger and rode off with Jensen’s mare still tethered behind him so that Jensen had to fist his hands in its thick mane in order to keep from falling off again. Clegane obviously didn’t trust him not to try and gallop off on his own. They rode in silence while Jensen considered his situation. The Hound was going to ransom him. Jensen didn’t like the idea of that one bit but if it brought her back to Robb he’d suffer anything. Maybe he could try and escape once they were closer.

They rode for three days that way, stopping only for sleep. The Hound seemed as anxious to reach the Twins and be rid of the uncomfortably tense company as Jensen was. He only spoke to him in short commands and Jensen did as he was told rather than disrupt their tenuous armistice. On the fourth day, he could stand it no longer and decided to break the silence.

“I’ve never been to the Twins before,” he said conversationally as he plucked the feathers from a wood grouse that Sandor had caught for their supper. “I’ve heard they are a dismal bunch but I suppose my brother must find alliances where he can. My uncle Edmure is to wed one of the Frey girls, you know. It’s not a love match or anything, but still it should be a grand feast.”

The larger man studied him for a long moment without any sign of offering a response.

Undaunted, Jensen thought out loud as he continued plucking. “If Robb is attending despite the fighting in the south then it’s possible my mother might as well. Uncle Edmure is her brother after all.”

His heart leapt at the thought of seeing his mother again and he smiled to himself or the first time in days. He and Robb and Mother would be together soon for the first time since the world had gone mad. Since his father had died. Then he thought of Sansa at Kings Landing and felt immediately guilty that she couldn’t be there as well.

“You said my sister was safe,” he said tentatively. “You weren’t lying were you?”

Sandor glared at him. “I do not lie,” he ground out, his voice sounding rough from disuse. “The little bird is safe so long as the King desires for her to be.”

“Why do you call her that?” Jensen asked. “Little bird?”

Sandor was silent as if he was struggling to come up with the right answer. It was the first time Jensen had seen him hesitant about anything other than an open flame. “She is fragile like bird,” he said finally. “A pretty useless pet. She sings whatever song she’s taught to with no voice of her own.”

Then Jensen understood. He felt like bursting out laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. Without meaning to Clegane had given him a weapon that Jensen could use to cut him to the quick. He shot the man a pointed look but didn’t reply, letting the silence grow heavy between them so that it bore down on Sandor’s shoulders. Jensen had battled wits with Tywin Lannister at Harrenhal. The Hound would be no match for him. Jensen could bring him pain in ways that didn’t require a sword. He knew now what kind of pain love could bring. Jensen returned to plucking the bird, smiling secretively to himself.

The next day as they rode, he hummed a little tune that Sansa often sang. He saw the Hound’s head turn slightly at the sound from where he rode in front but the man said nothing.

When Jensen finished the song, he sighed dramatically. “I shall be happy to see my brother again,” he said, more to himself than the Hound but loud enough that he could hear. “I expect he has a beard now as red as my uncle Edmure’s. Robb always did have the Tully look more than Stark. Auburn hair and blue eyes just like Sansa.” When Sandor didn’t reply, he barreled on. “I take after my father more, but Sansa is Tully through and through. She was always the prettiest and most agreeable of us all. She’ll be a good lady wife just like my mother taught her to be. A good queen someday too I suppose. And a good mother to Joffrey’s children.” Jensen saw Sandor flinch and knew that his last barb had gotten to him.

“I wonder, will my nephews have auburn hair like Sansa or blonde like Joff?” he prattled on gleefully, taking great enjoyment in knowing that he was finally getting underneath the Hound’s thick skin. “Or I suppose they could be raven-haired if they take after the Baratheons...”

“Not bloody likely,” Sandor interrupted with a snort. He looked back at him and flashed a twisted smirk. “Or haven’t you heard?”

“What are you talking about?” Jensen asked.

“You think you’re smart, wolf-pup,” Sandor said mockingly. “But you don’t know everything. Joffrey’s as much a Baratheon as I am. You didn’t know that did you?”

Jensen stared at him dumbfounded. “What do you mean?”

“The queen’s own brother is her son’s father. Joffrey is a Lannister through and through.”

Jensen was stunned. “You – you can’t be serious. You would spread such filthy lies about your King?”

“Fuck the king” Clegane replied, turning his head back to the road ahead of them. “I served House Lannister my whole life and what’s it got me? Nothing. Now I serve myself.” After a moment’s pause he added, “I do not lie. Joffrey is a golden boy, and I’ve seen some of Robert’s bastards with my own eyes. They all have black hair and blue eyes. All of them.”

Jensen couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Queen Cersei betrayed King Robert with her own brother? The Hound was right. Joffrey had always looked like the very picture of his uncle. His younger brother Tommen and his sister Myrcella too. They all were as golden-haired as Cersei. Nothing like the dark looks of Robert and his brothers. Suddenly Jensen remembered something he had heard his father say once as he pored over the manuscripts in his solar at King’s Landing. _The seed is strong_. Could he have known? Was that the axe-stroke that took his head? Fresh hatred for Cersei and all the rest of the Lannisters flooded through Jensen, consuming him in it’s wake. They had slain his noble father and put an abomination on Robert’s throne.

Jensen sat in stony silence as his horse walked along behind Sandor’s, his little mind-game with his kidnapper forgotten in the face of this new revelation. Then something else occurred to him. _Robert’s bastards…They all have dark hair and blue eyes. All of them._

“Are you certain?” Jensen said, breaking the silence. “Black hair and blue eyes like Robert? All of them?”

Sandor looked back around to him in annoyance, clearly thinking that the conversation had been over. “Yes. Everyone of them. Any fool who saw them could tell that they were Robert’s and that Joffrey shares none of their blood.”

Jensen pictured each of the three great Baratheon lords in his mind, all the while cursing himself as a fool. Stormy blue eyes like Stannis. Thick dark hair like Renly. Tall and strong as the people say that Robert himself once had been. A bastard son. Hunted by Cersei’s goldcloaks. How had he been so blind? Joffrey may not be Robert’s son - but _Jared_ was. Jared was Robert’s bastard. All this time, he was the King’s bastard and he never knew.

The enormity of it all stole the breath from Jensen’s body. Could the gods be so cruel? All this time, Jared had thought that he was unworthy of Jensen’s affections when he was the one with true royal blood in his veins.

~~~

When they stopped that night, they stayed at a small roadside inn. Sandor sold Jensen’s mare to a nearby farmer and paid the man back some of his money to take a ransom message on to the Twins. He threatened the farmer with certain death if he didn’t deliver it to Robb himself. That night, Jensen slept as best he could while tied to a chair and gagged. The Hound wasn’t taking any chances with them being so close to the Twins. He knew that if Jensen escaped, his ransom money went with him. Sandor sprawled his great frame out on the thin bed and fell asleep with his dagger ready in his hand. Jensen almost didn’t blame him. If he had been free, he wouldn’t have hesitated to kill the ugly brute while he slept.

In the morning, Sandor lifted Jensen onto Stranger’s back to sit in front of him as they rode towards the Twins. The cloth that had gagged him all night was gone so he could breathe easily again, but his hands were still tied in front of him. All of his muscles felt stiff and saddle-sore from so many days without proper rest. He was certain that his wrists were bleeding. After a few hours of riding, he was coughing out dust from the dry road. Jensen took his pain out on Sandor as soon as the gates of the Twins came into view on the horizon ahead of them.

“Do you ever wonder if my sister misses you at King’s Landing, Dog?” he said, using Joffrey’s spiteful nickname for the Hound.

Sandor said nothing but grimaced and urged Stranger on faster.

“She’s all alone there now because you left her behind with that monster Joffrey. You left your little bird unprotected in the Lion’s den.”

“Silence,” Sandor threatened.

Jensen smiled. He had him now. “You never told her that you loved her, did you Dog?”

“Enough!” Sandor roared. He drew his dagger and held it against Jensen’s throat.

Jensen was frightened, but the sight of the double towers of the Twins just ahead of them made him bold. “Too much the coward? Afraid that she would reject you? Because she would have, Dog. She would have laughed in your horrible ugly face.”

“Silence!” Sandor yelled. He cuffed Jensen hard across the back of the head with the bottom of his knife-handle, pitching him forward roughly in the saddle with the impact.

Jensen used the momentum of his body to swing his head backwards hard right into the Hound’s face. The inside of his skull rung like a muffled bell when he struck, leaving him dazed.  As much as it hurt him, the effort did pay off.  He heard the crunch of bone breaking and felt the other man’s blood wet his hair.

Sandor cried out and dropped his dagger as Stranger reared back in fright. They both hit the ground hard but Jensen was able to roll and spring quickly onto his feet thanks to Syrio’s relentless training. As soon he felt the solid earth beneath him, Jensen set off running. He ran as fast as he could while the Hound was still disoriented and blinded by pain. It was desperate and reckless and then man would probably run him down any second but he had to try.

“Sanctuary!” he screamed over and over again as he ran. His only chance would be if the guards at the gate heard him and came out to his rescue. Jensen could see the banners of House Frey and House Tully as they flapped in the wind above the castle towers. He was so close, but he could hear hoofbeats gaining behind him. “Help me! Help me!” he cried so loud that his throat felt scraped raw. “Sanctuary!”

Jensen heard an arrow cut the air over his head but he didn’t stop and neither did his pursuer. The hoofbeats were getting louder and he knew that within moments the Hound would be right on top of him. Then he saw the castle’s portcullis rise and saw soldiers streaming out with their swords drawn. Hope drove him forwards even though his legs felt like they could give out any moment. He was almost safe, almost there.

From behind him he heard the Hound let out an angry growl. “Damn you to Hell!” he yelled. The hoofbeats paused for a second and then Jensen felt a heavy bundle collide with his back and knock him forwards. He fell as the Frey soldiers swarmed past him, chasing the Hound away.

Jensen picked up his head from the dust of the road and tasted blood in his mouth were he had bitten his tongue. He looked around and saw that what had hit him was his own sack of belongings that Sandor had thrown at him in anger once he realized he had no choice but to retreat. Jensen smiled a bloody smile and carefully picked himself up off of scraped hands and knees. As he stood, he looked up towards the open gate of the Twins and saw the outline of a woman standing at the top of the stairs to the keep.

“Mother!”


	13. Chapter 13

Jared dismounted his horse and tied him next to the others. He could feel the eyes of the Brotherhood watching him as he unsaddled it and petted its thick neck in thanks for another day’s ride. He knew that they all thought that he’d gone mad. Maybe he had.

For days he had been searching for Jensen and the Hound with an unyielding determination that seemed to confound the other men. After he’d fallen from his horse that first day and passed out in the grass, he had learned that he had to remember to look after himself a little better or else he wouldn’t have the strength to do what had to be done. To find Jensen. Since then, he ridden out alone every day, only returning to the camp at night to fill his belly, sleep for a few hours, and then set off again before the sun had woken. He didn’t speak to anyone or care to be spoken to. None of them could possibly understand.

Lord Beric and the Brotherhood had sworn to protect Jensen and many of them had even become fond of him while he was with them. They had sent out search parties looking for him when he went missing but when no one had seen neither hide nor hair of him after a few days, they had quietly backed down their efforts. Even Edric, who had once been clearly fond of Jensen, seemed resigned that he might well be gone for good. Then Roose Bolton had taken Harrenhal and their attention was needed elsewhere. But Jared had never stopped searching.

When Jared walked into his forge, he found it cold and dark. He hadn’t bothered to light the fire in there since Jensen had left. He dropped his sword on the workbench, grabbed up his dinner bowl, and went back out again to get himself some food. The men were huddled around the campfire eating a thick venison stew that bubbled away in a large pot over the open flame. When Jared approached, their conversation felt quiet.

Mudge stood and handed him the ladle. “Here you go, lad. Anguy felled us a doe today. Not much meat on her, but enough to go in the pot.”

Jared nodded and filled his bowl, handing the ladle back to Mudge without comment. He took it back to his forge and ate it sitting on the ground outside his doorway. As he ate, he watched the men slip back into the easy flow of their banter, their faces illuminated by the firelight. He liked these men, but he felt so detached from them now. He felt like he had to be in order to keep focus. It would’ve been easy to just stay and be companionable with them for a while. Let himself forget for a few hours. But he couldn’t. Not while Jensen was still out there somewhere.

~~~

Jensen hadn’t left his mother’s side for a moment since their first embrace on the steps of the keep. He’d never been an overly affectionate son before but now he clung to Catelyn Stark like a vine on a tree. When he told his mother about his journey from King’s Landing to Harrenhal, to the Brotherhood’s camp, and then his capture by the Hound, his mother had cried. When Jensen’s mother had told him about Theon Greyjoy’s betrayal, the bastard Ramsey Bolton’s siege of Winterfell, and the death of her sweet brothers Bran and Rickon, it was Jensen’s turn to weep. Then when Robb, dear beautiful Robb, came running into Catelyn’s room and swept Jensen up into a crushing hug, they all cried together. Every moment of happiness at their reunion was tinged by sorrow for those they had lost. For the time they had lost apart and the memories of happy times gone by at Winterfell that they would never be able to share again.

They sat together for a long time afterwards. Jensen retold his story to Robb who listened quietly with a grim look on his face. He could tell how much it pained his brother to hear everything that had happened to him, but Robb couldn’t have known and now it was too late to go back and change any of it. Robb had become a king and at the same time he had become a man. Jensen saw the world-weary look of their father in his eyes and he wondered to himself what Ned Stark would have thought of that.

Jensen didn’t tell either his mother or his brother about Jaqen H’ghar or the men that he’d killed for him. He glossed over those bits, sensing for some reason that it was more important to keep the secret of that mysterious man to himself. He stumbled a bit when he spoke of Jared, but he barreled on with his tale, never mentioning the part of their friendship that had turned into something much deeper. It was too much, too complicated, and the wounds there were still too fresh.

Finally a woman walked into the room and Jensen saw a change come over Robb almost instantly. His face softened as he took her hand and introduced her as his wife, Lady Jeyne Westerling. She had a pretty heart-shaped face and long chestnut hair. Her smile was shy but warm and Jensen couldn’t help but smile back. Robb was clearly besotted by her and from the way she looked at him she seemed to love him just as well, which told Jensen all he needed to know of her character. Robb told him how they had met on the battlefield where she was tending to the injured men. Robb had broken a betrothal he had agreed to with one of the Frey girls because he couldn’t bear the thought of marrying any other woman once he had met Jeyne. His face grew solemn again as he explained that their uncle Edmure’s betrothal to Roslin Frey was supposed to serve as recompense for the pledge that he had dishonored. Jensen saw Robb share a guilty look with their mother and he realized that his rash actions must have sparked some tension among them. Catelyn Stark valued their family’s honor as much as their father had and Jensen knew that she wouldn’t have approved of what Robb had done.

When Robb and Jeyne left to go down to supper, Catelyn called for servants to help Jensen bathe and bring them both up some food. She ran her hands over Jensen’s short hair affectionately. “I was told my son would be returning to me but instead I got a wildling,” she said with a soft smile.

The servants entered, bringing them trenchers of bread filled with a creamy fish stew, a platter of cheeses and green olives, and raspberry tarts. Jensen was ravenous and Catelyn let him eat without scolding him about his deplorable table manners while the servants left to go heat some water for his bath. When they were alone, Catelyn poured herself some wine and took a seat at the table across from him. “Jensen, there’s something I want to ask you.”

Jensen chewed his food, waiting.

“I noticed earlier…when you spoke of this…Jared,” his mother began. “It sounds like you two were close. He was by your side all this time, yet you look sad when you talk about him. Was there something else that you’re not telling me?”

Jensen swallowed hard and looked away. “He…He’s just a boy. A stupid boy.”

His mother’s patient blue eyes bore into him, sensing his distress. If she guessed at the real cause of it she kept it to herself. Instead, she pursed her lips and drew them into a frown. “You fought, I take it. Did you offend him in some way?”

Jensen immediately began to protest. “No! He’s a sneak and a liar! He said that he was my friend but he didn’t mean it at all. He swore himself to Beric Dondarrion instead of coming with me to find you and Robb. He said Robb wouldn’t approve of him. He said that Robb wouldn’t let us be friends. But he’s stupid! He’s so stupid because…”

“Why?” Catelyn asked quietly.

Jensen fumbled uneasily at his mother’s tone. “Because…because Robb would never…”

“It’s not so simple, Jensen.” Catelyn sighed. “Robb is a king now. He has to make a lot of hard decisions. We needed the Frey’s as our allies in order to bring Robb’s army across the river and to strengthen our numbers. Concessions had to be made for their support. One of them was his betrothal to Roslin. When that failed, Edmure took Robb’s place to placate the Frey’s. But there was another deal we had to strike as well. He had to promise your betrothal to Elma Frey, Walder’s youngest niece.”

Suddenly all the good food that Jensen had just eaten felt like it was trying to rise back out of his throat. He pushed up from the table he had shared with his mother and backed away as if it had caught fire. “No! It can’t be true. I won’t! I won’t marry her! I don’t want to marry Elma Frey or anyone else! Ever!”

Catelyn rose and clasped Jensen’s hands in hers. “It couldn’t be helped. You must Jensen. It’s your duty to this family and to the people of the North who entrusted us with their well-being when they made your brother their king. We’re already on tenuous ground with the Frey’s after Robb…nevermind, there’s nothing to be done about it now.” His mother guided him to sit on a cushioned bench nearby. “I hope that this wedding tomorrow will help to heal that rift. We cannot hope to win many more battles without the Frey’s support. But more so, it’s a matter of honor. Keeping our oath once it’s given. So you see, we still need you to do your part.”

Jensen was shocked and saddened beyond words. How could he have been so naive? He had always thought that he was special. That he was too strong and too independent to bend to any man’s will. But now he saw the truth of it. He was utterly powerless. Just a weak little pawn in a bigger man’s game.

His mother hugged him tight. “Oh Jensen. I know you’re angry. You’ve got so much of the wolf in you, like your father did. Willful and proud. And maybe it’s my fault for indulging you where I never did with the others. But I loved you too well. You have the kind of wild passion for life that I never had the courage for. Don’t think of this as an ending. Think of it as a beginning. I never met your father until the day of our marriage but I grew to love him with all my heart.” Catelyn leaned back and held Jensen’s face in her hands, studying his wounded look. She kissed his cheek and said, “This Jared. Maybe it’s best that you’ve parted ways. You come from different worlds and so you must lead very different lives. Someday you’ll understand.”

Then servants reappeared with a copper tub and several buckets of hot water for Jensen’s bath. Catelyn stood and said, “I’ll leave you now. Wash and eat some more, then make ready for bed. You must be exhausted. I’ll be back to check on you later.”

Jensen was left alone with the servants who scrubbed him clean and dressed him in a warm cotton nightshirt. He picked at the rest of his food but found he no longer had any taste for it. He felt numb all over. He was so happy to be back with his family and yet now that he knew what destiny lay ahead of him all he wanted was to run away. But he couldn’t. If he did, it would go badly for Robb and his men who had been fighting so hard. They needed these damn Frey’s and Jensen had the power to help them in that. He couldn’t bear the thought of being away from his family ever again but he didn’t know if he could make the sacrifice that they wanted him to.

When his mother returned, she was in her nightgown and robe. She quietly to his bedside and blew out the candles, leaning down to kiss Jensen’s forehead like she hadn’t done since Jensen was very small. Catelyn left him to sleep but Jensen’s mind was still reeling from everything that his mother had said. He thought of Jared and found himself both angry and sad when he did. He couldn’t forgive him for what he had done. He wasn’t ready to. Anger had driven Jensen forward so many times since his father’s death and it was so easy let it guide him again where Jared was concerned. But now there was sadness too. And that rocked him almost as much as his rage did. Sadness for what could never be.

~~~

The wedding ceremony the following day was a solemn affair with all the pomp and circumstance befitting the prestige of both houses. The Freys were not particularly devout followers of the Seven but the Tullys were, so special consideration was made to pay homage to each divine incarnation and ask for their blessings on the union. Edmure looked every inch the dashing lord in cobalt blue and red with his fish sigil done over in silver thread. To his credit, he wore a brave smile on his face as he joined hands with his betrothed, however unwanted the marriage really was. Roslin Frey was not an ugly woman. Some might even claim her to be pretty. Her face was fox-like and her long wavy hair was brown like the coat of a mink.   Her gown was silvery white with a sash of blue grey and many admired it’s fit. But Jensen knew how to look with his eyes. He could see that Roslin’s thin lips never smiled and her eyes looked hard.

The hall that the feast was held in was immense, but sparsely decorated. The Frey’s didn’t seem to be much for ornamentation. What flowers there were had been added hastily that morning by the Tully servants, who had insisted that their beloved lord should have some cheerful blossoms to greet him. Banners of Tully, Frey, and Stark hung from the ceiling. Sweet smelling rushes and hundreds of candles made the cavernous stone room feel much warmer than it otherwise might have. Musicians played and the guests danced merrily. The bright blues, greens, and saffron hues of the Tully’s finery made the Frey’s look like drab little sparrows set in the company of peacocks. Jugglers and fools entertained the guests with their acrobatic tumbling and ribald jokes. The laughter of the guests rang out at every jape, although to Jensen’s ears it sounded somewhat forced. It was obvious to him that everyone around him was trying very hard to keep up the façade that this was a joyous event and not an obligation.

Jensen however just couldn’t. He wanted to be able to pretend like everything was fine, but he knew better than anyone what his uncle and even Roslin might be feeling. Forced to marry someone that they didn’t love. He watched the dancers twirl and leap and he wondered how many of those same faces he would see at his farce of a wedding someday.

His true thoughts must have shown through a little because his mother placed a comforting hand on top of his on the table and smiled softly. “Please, Jensen,” Catelyn said. “Try to enjoy yourself. You look so handsome tonight. That shade of blue suits you.”

Jensen forced a smile back at his mother and dutifully ate some of his roasted pheasant, trying not to get any on his new clothes. He had only just been returned to his family the day before. He didn’t want to cause tension already, but their political maneuvering and scheming had left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Uncle Edmure approached to welcome them. He placed a kiss on Catelyn’s cheek and when he turned to Jensen he surprised him by pulling him in for a hug. “Our little Jensen returned to us at last!” he exclaimed. His red beard tickled Jensen’s cheek. He smelled of cinnamon and cloves from the spiced wine he had been drinking. “I’m so glad to see you safe after everything that’s happened. With your sister still captive and your brothers…” His warm smile suddenly falling as he struggled for the words. “My sister needs you now more than ever. Do you understand what I mean?”

“Yes, sir,” Jensen said as he withdrew from his uncle’s embrace. “I understand. I would like to tell you congratulations on your wedding.”

His words were properly polite, but Edmure was clever and he caught the subtle tone behind them. “My smart boy. My dear smart boy. Nothing fools you does it? You are your father’s child to be sure,” he said ruefully.

When Edmure had returned to the dais where he sat with his new bride, Jensen noticed a man enter the hall with a group of knights behind him. He was a pale man dressed plainly in boiled leather and dark wool, but he was clearly a lord by the way his men treated him.

“Who is that, Mother?” he asked

“That’s Roose Bolton. See the flayed man on his knights’ tunics?”

“Bolton?” Jensen cried. “You told me his bastard took Winterfell! How dare he show his face here!”

“Jensen, please,” His mother whispered, trying to prevent Jensen from jumping out of his seat. “I had my misgivings as well, but he has assured Robb that Ramsay acted without his knowledge. He does not condone what his son has done and he remains loyal to us and to the Frey’s.”

Jensen was stunned. “How can Robb believe that? How can we possibly trust him?”

“We must, dear. Roose took Harrenhal from Lannister’s men and has raised the Stark banner there to show his fealty. He gains us a strategic position through to the Crownlands.”

“Jensen?” Robb called as he walked up to where they sat. “May I speak with you?”

Jensen immediately dreaded what he felt would be a difficult conversation for both of them. “Of course,” he said rising. Robb led him a little ways away from the rest of the crowd before he spoke.

“Jensen, Mother told me that she spoke with you about our agreement with the Freys.” He began. “I know that this business of your betrothal - it may have come as a shock.”

Jensen glared at him but said nothing.

“I wanted you to know that if I had another option I would have taken it,” Robb continued. “I know it’s not what you might have wanted. Not what you may have imagined for yourself. But it had to be done.”

Jensen heard what he said but found that his brother’s words offered him no comfort. He was so angry at him. More angry than he’d ever been at him before. Jensen had always looked up to Robb and adored him. If he were a little older he gladly would have followed Robb into any battle, no matter how bleak. But in that moment, Jensen could barely look at him. He turned to walk away from him, but Robb caught his arm.

“Please, Jensen,” he begged him.

His eyes were so full of remorse that part of Jensen relented enough to speak. “No Robb,” he said, gently removing his hand. “I don’t want to talk about this with you right now. I just can’t. I understand…but please just leave me be.”

Jensen walked away from him then, returning to sit by his mother. He watched the brooding set of Robb’s shoulders as he crossed the hall to go back to his own seat by Jeyne. Before he could reach her however, he was approached by Roose Bolton.

“Greetings Bolton,” Jensen heard Robb say companionably “Are you enjoying the feast?”

“Not particularly, Sire,” Roose replied with a grimace.

“Oh? Well I believe they’re about to commence with the bedding ceremony. Perhaps you’ll find that more diverting.”

“Unfortunately Sire, I am called away. Apparently there’s a message of some import from Harrenhal that requires my attention.”

“Nothing serious I trust,” Robb said

“Nothing for you to concern yourself with at the moment. Please excuse me, Sire,” Roose said with a slight bow of his head.

Jensen watched Roose go, wondering to himself how Robb could possibly be so cordial to a man who in Jensen’s opinion clearly shouldn’t be trusted.

Suddenly the hall was filled with drunken cheers for Edmure and Roslin as their attendants pulled them off the dais and carried them away to their bedchamber. Tradition demanded that the bride was to be stripped in front of her husband’s men and jeered at about the pending loss of her maidenhead, while the groom was subjected to similar treatment from his bride’s ladies-in-waiting. All in good fun of course.

Most of the Frey’s retired as well, but the Tully’s and their guests stayed on to enjoy more of the revelry and drink. Jensen remained in the hall with his mother, who was deep in conversation with Ser Manderly. Robb by all rights should have joined the bedding party, but his mood had apparently soured after his attempted conversation with Jensen, and he seemed content to remain by Jeyne’s side. As the commotion created by the bedding ritual died down, one of the musicians began to play a song to entertain the guests. He sang:

_And who are you, the proud lord said,_

_that I must bow so low?_

_Only a cat of a different coat,_

_that's all the truth I know._

_In a coat of gold or a coat of red,_

_a lion still has claws,_

_And mine are long and sharp, my lord,_

_as long and sharp as yours._

_And so he spoke, and so he spoke,_

_that lord of Castamere,_

_But now the rains weep o'er his hall,_

_with no one there to hear._

_Yes now the rains weep o'er his hall,_

_and not a soul to hear._

As soon as the song had ended, Roose Bolton and his men came striding back into the chamber. He had donned his armor, a deep burnished red that to Jensen looked like he was coated in dried blood. He stood before Robb who looked mildly surprised by his appearance.

“What’s happened, Bolton?” Robb exclaimed, springing up from his seat and rounding the table to face him. “Has there been an attack?”

“I have a message for you, my lord.” Roose smiled cruelly as he drew his longsword. “Jamie Lannister sends his regards.”

Roose gave a signal to one of his soldiers who thrust a dagger into Jeyne’s belly. Jeyne screamed and slumped forward weakly onto the blade.

Jensen was paralyzed by shock. _No!_ His mind screamed against what his eyes were seeing. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be happening.

Archers appeared on the gallery above the hall and shot into the crowd. Two of their arrows struck Robb in the chest, his face contorted in shock and pain. Roose calmly pushed him backwards so that Robb fell against the table. Robb leaned on it’s edge as blood poured from his wound. Catelyn began to scream. Suddenly the hall erupted into panic.

Soldiers came rushing in from all around. The musicians threw down their instruments and picked up the swords they had kept concealed for just that moment. Lords and ladies trampled over each other as they tried to flee, but every direction they went was blocked by solders wearing the sigils of House Bolton and House Frey. When the first sword blows were struck, the screaming of both men and women became deafening. None were safe. Bright crimson sprays of blood splattered the floor and made the stones slick beneath their feet. It was all out slaughter.

Jensen grabbed his mother’s hand and tried to run towards Robb, but their path was blocked by the chaos. He was unarmed and felt utterly helpless as his brother was dying in front of him. Jensen saw Grey Wind tear a man’s arm from his body. Arrows whizzed through the air over their heads, striking down Smalljohn Umber and several other of Robb’s men. A third arrow struck Robb in the neck and the force of them knocked him to the ground. Jensen felt his mother’s hand snatch away from his, and when he looked back his mother was running through the crowd toward’s Robb. Jensen chased after her.

Catelyn grabbed a dagger out of a dead man’s hands and pounced on Aegon Frey, the half-wit fool. In a mad rage, she called out to Walder Frey where he sat calmly on the dais watching the melee around him. “Walder Frey! On my honor as a Tully and a Stark, I will trade your boy’s life for Robb’s. A son for a son.”

Walder sneered at her and her hostage. “A son for a son, eh? But that’s a grandson, and he never was much use.”

He motioned to one of his men who advanced on Robb and beheaded him in one clean stroke.

Jensen shouted his brother’s name and rushed forward, but was knocked down with a glancing blow of Raymund Frey’s sword which opened a gushing wound on the side of his head. White hot pain sliced through him. He fell to the ground with a sickening thud.

Catelyn let out a gut-wrenching wail and began hacking savagely at Aegon’s throat. Jensen could hear his mother’s voice as if it was at the end of a long tunnel. Catelyn cried out for her dead children as the fool’s blood flew out and mingled with her own tears. She cried for her beloved Ned to please make it stop. Then Raymund raised his sword again and slit her throat.

Jensen felt the grisly horror that surrounded him begin to slip away. He felt nothing anymore but numb, his own blood pooling around his head. From where he lay, he could see the Frey men pick up his brother’s corpse and sit it upright again in his chair like a rag doll. They began to cheer as they placed Grey Wind’s severed head on Robb’s shoulders. It was the last thing Jensen saw before he lost consciousness.


	14. Chapter 14

Jared was roused from his sleep not an hour after he’d finally been able to doze off. He bolted upright at the sound of shouting outside his forge. The first thought that ran through his mind was that they were being attacked. He grabbed his sword and ran out into the darkness with it raised in readiness to strike. What he saw was the men gathered around Beric and another man he’d never seen before. He sheathed his sword and walked over for a closer look. The newcomer was slight of build and filthy. He had a weasel-like face and he was looking around the camp nervously like a caged dog. The men were shouting furious curses and calling for the head of Walder Frey.

“Calm yourselves!” Beric bellowed. “We don’t yet know who’s to blame. Let the man speak.”

“What happened?” Jared shouted to Notch over the din.

Notch turned and Jared saw the gruff man’s eyes glittering with unshed tears in the firelight. He grit his teeth as he struggled to respond. “There’s been a massacre at the Twins” he said. “It was to be a wedding between House Tully and House Frey to unite them all under the Stark’s banner.” Notch shook his great shaggy head wearily before he continued. “But it was a mummer’s farce used to spring a trap. No one escaped.” Notch laid his large hands on Jared’s shoulders, bracing him for the worst of it. “They say King Robb and his family were slaughtered.”

Jared knocked Notch’s hands away, unwilling to believe. He pushed his way through the crowd of men to better hear what the stranger was trying to say.

“Silence!” Beric roared. “Continue please, Llewyn.”

“Y-Yes, I was pouring wine for Lord Danwell when the soldiers came,” Llewyn began. “I had no weapon so I tried to flee, but there was nowhere to go. We were surrounded. I hid behind a tapestry when the killing began. So many dead. Lords and ladies trampling over the corpses of their kin. I can hear them screaming in my nightmares.” The man raised a shaky hand to rub his temple as if it pained him.

“Go on,” Beric commanded him.

“Yes, m’lord. Beg your pardon. I was there for a long time, behind the tapestry. Then I felt something fall against the wall next to me. It was a soldier – I don’t know who. He wore the tunic of House Bolton.”

The men shouted in outrage at this news. If Roose Bolton’s men were a party of this horror, than that meant that he had betrayed House Stark. Bolton and Frey had both turned their coats for the enemy Lannister red.

“Are you certain?” Beric demanded. “He wore the sigil of Bolton?”

“Yes,” Llewyn nodded. “Him and many others there. But this poor bastard was dead. So I took his tunic to disguise myself.”

“Craven! Craven!” the men began to shout at him.

“If I hadn’t I would have been killed!” Llewyn protested. “I would have been killed!”

“Enough!” Beric shouted. “What else? Tell me of the king. Are you certain of his death?”

The little man tried to compose himself under the threatening glare of Lord Beric. “The King is dead,” he replied.

The men around him fell silent at that. None had known Robb personally except for Beric who had met him a few times at Winterfell. Still, the young king had been their hope for freedom from the tyranny of the Lannisters and now that hope was shattered.

“Before I escaped, I saw him,” Llewyn continued. “What they had done to him. They desecrated his body in a manner most foul.”

Beric looked stricken at this news. He turned and walked away, choosing to grieve in private. Many of the men began to scatter as well, each shouldering the weight of the stranger’s news in their own way. More than a few of them went directly for the casks of wine, choosing to drown their sorrows.

Jared stepped forward. “What of his family?” he demanded roughly.

“His family?” Llewyn asked in confusion.

“The Starks. Did any of the Starks escape?”

“No. No one survived who wasn’t a Frey or Bolton. Except for me.”

Jared refused to believe. Maybe he wasn’t even there. It was possible that the Hound had taken him somewhere else. Riverrun perhaps or back to Harrenhal. There still might be hope.

“The king’s brother” he said, grabbing hold of the man’s shirtfront. “His name is Jensen. A fair boy of three and ten with dark gold hair. Was he there? Did you see him?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know!” Llewyn cried, trying to squirm out of Jared’s grasp.

A glimmer of metal caught Jared’s eye. He looked down and saw a dagger sticking up from where it was partially concealed in the top of the man’s boot. A dagger with a wolf-head handle.

Jared snatched it out of the man’s boot and held it aloft. “Where did you get this?” he shouted at him.

“It’s mine!” Llewyn insisted, shrinking away from him.

“Liar!” Jared yelled. He pounced on the man, holding the dagger against his throat. “Where did you get this?” he repeated with deadly calm.

“It’s mine! I won it fair!” Llewyn screamed.

“You’re a liar!” Notch and Dennett grabbed him and tried to pull him off of the frightened man. Jared struggled against them. It was Jensen’s dagger. The wolf-head dagger that Jared had made for him. He would recognize it anywhere. This craven had no business touching it.

“No! I won it!” the man cried. “The soldiers - they collected plunder from the dead. They played at dice for the best pieces and I won it from them truly. It belongs to me!”

Jared stopped struggling and Notch and Dennett released him. He stumbled backward and sat down hard on the ground, cradling his head against clenched fists. He still had Jensen’s knife in his hand, his knuckles turning white from the force of his grip.

Dennett made a move towards Jared to see if he was alright, but Notch stopped him. “Let the lad be” he said, motioning for Dennett to follow him as he backed away.

Ever since Jensen had left Jared had tried to be strong. He’d done everything he could to find him. He had numbed himself inside so that he wouldn’t falter. Stubbornly denied to everyone, including himself, that the possibility even existed that Jensen couldn’t be found and rescued. Or worse yet, killed. But he could deny it no longer. Jensen was dead.

Jared broke. He quite simply broke.

All that regret, and pain, and misery that he had been holding back for so long broke through the wall he had built around his heart. Everything that he’d kept suppressed down deep inside of him in places that he refused to acknowledge. It all surged forth in a horrific jumble that threatened to tear him apart. Overwhelming grief choked his throat so that he made no sound. Tears streamed down his face unchecked. He didn’t give a damn if the other men thought him weak or even mad. He was past caring about any of that. Nothing mattered now that Jensen was dead.

Eventually when he had nothing left inside of him, Jared tucked Jensen’s dagger into his belt and stumbled back to his forge. Sunrise was still a long way off and it was pitch black inside his quarters. He stared down at his bed, knowing immediately that sleep would be unthinkable. He was so exhausted emotionally and physically that he was near delirium, riding on a wave of manic restlessness. He found himself lighting the fire in the forge, desperately needing its comforting warmth.

When it was lit, Jared stood in front of it watching the flames dance. He felt like a hollowed out shell of the boy from Fleabottom that he used to be. He picked up his hammer, feeling the familiar weight of it that had once felt like an extension of his own arm. He turned to place it on his workbench but then he caught sight of his own shadow on the wall.

The shadow before him was tall and strong. Fearsome to behold. Nothing could touch this man. Nothing could hurt him. In his hands, the hammer would not just be a tool. It was a weapon. A war hammer that would rain vengeance down upon his enemies. Bolton. Frey. And Lannister.

Jared felt the hollow places inside him begin to fill again – this time with rage. A glorious rage that burned as brightly as the fire in his forge. It made him feel immensely powerful. This he could use. He could make himself hard inside and out like an iron hammer. He would become the Hammer, forged in fury.

~~~

Jensen dreamed that he was drowning. The icy cold current tossed him about like the ragdoll of an angry child. He felt numbed all over from the chill, save for his lungs which felt like they were on fire. Every time he battled his way towards the surface for a precious gulp of air, the force of the current smacked him back down again. He could hear someone screaming but they sounded very far away. There was no sky and no earth anymore. He could see nothing but the churning brownish green of the murky water.

When he awoke he was dry and warm again. The water was gone. He was lying in a bed, dressed in a nightshirt that was much too big, and his head was throbbing dully. He tried to rise but the effort caused the room around him to spin. When he managed to sit upright, Jensen looked around and realized that he was alone in a plainly appointed bedroom. He felt bruised and battered all over but his head was where the pain was strongest. The right side of it was thickly bandaged. Jensen remembered the sharp pain of a blade slicing into him there. Then he remembered why.

Mother. Rob. Grey Wind. Everyone was dead. Slaughtered. There had been so much blood. Rivers of blood. Both his body and mind rebelled at the horrific images of the memory. Jensen vomited into the chamber pot by his beside. When he was spent, he sat for a long time gripping the edge of the bed listening to the pounding of his own heartbeat in his ears. The sound pulsed through him, drowning out fear and sorrow until all that was left was the honed-edged steel of his rage. He must not break. They were all counting on him now to survive. He was the only one left who could rescue Sansa. The only one who could avenge their family.

His dark thoughts were interrupted when a young woman entered his room with an armful of bedsheets. She gave a small gasp when she saw Jensen.

“You’re awake!” she exclaimed. “Oh, your uncle will glad to hear it. We all thought that you were lost for true.”

“My uncle?” Jensen asked warily, his voice sounding hoarse from disuse. Could it be that Uncle Edmure had somehow survived the carnage?

“Yes,” the girl said as she set down her bundle on the bed. “He’s been asking after you for the past three days. How are you feeling, ser? You’ve had a right horrible wound.”

Jensen’s mind scrambled to determine his next move. He had no weapons and no clothes other than the nightshirt he wore. He had no choice at the moment but to play along. He dared not hope too much just yet that it was really Edmure who had saved him.

“I’m feeling much better now thanks,” Jensen said. “Where is my uncle?”

“Oh, he’s just downstairs having a pint. I’ll take you to him if you feel up for it. Then you can have a nice bowl of porridge. That’ll fix you right up. I’ll see if our kitchen boy has an extra set of clothes about him for you to wear. I’m sorry to say that your own things were all ruined. Such a pity. Such fine silks.”

Jensen allowed the woman, Rose was her name, to help him dress in a faded yellow tunic and brown roughspun breeches that were much too big on his thin frame. He felt weak already from the minor exertion but he dared not show it or else Rose might order him back to bed. Jensen wasn’t sure who would be waiting for him downstairs but he might be able to get his hands on a knife or something else he could use as a weapon. At the very least, he could look whoever it was in the eye and show him that he was not afraid.

Rose led him down the wooden steps into the main room of the inn. It was mostly empty, with only four tables occupied by other patrons. Jensen felt the pit of his stomach drop. He spotted Sandor Clegane right away, his great bulk hunched over one of the wooden tables. He was alone and drinking heavily.

“Ser!” Rose called as she guided Jensen towards him. “A wonderful surprise!”

Sandor looked up and scowled before remembering his ruse. Quickly he trained his mangled features into something that might have resembled a smile for Rose’s benefit.

“The gods are good,” he said. “Nephew, I see you’re well.”

“Yes, Uncle,” Jensen said between clenched teeth. “Thank you, I’m feeling much stronger today. Much stronger.”

“Set yourself down,” Rose said brightly. “I’ll be right back with that porridge.”

Jensen lowered himself onto the bench across from Sandor. They regarded each other like a pair of vipers, coiled to strike.

“How dare you masquerade yourself as my kin. You’re not fit to lick my uncle’s boots,” Jensen said, his voice low so that only Sandor could hear.

“That’s a fine welcome for the man who saved your wretched life,” Sandor replied calmly.

“Saved it in order to ransom it again, I wager.”

“So, perhaps not all your wits were knocked out of your head after all.”

“Fool. Everyone who might have cared or had the coin is dead.” Jensen pointed out with an edge of pain edging its way into his voice.

“Might be,” Sandor said, pausing for another sip of his ale. “But I think Lady Lysa may be persuaded to part with some of House Arryn’s gold to see her sister’s child safe. If not, I’ll sell you to slavers instead. I’m sure they’ll find a use for you.”

“And what makes you think that I’ll just go along with you quietly?” Jensen threatened, nodding towards the other patrons in the inn. One good shout would alert them.

Sandor caught his glare with bleary eyes, but even drunk he still managed to be terrifyingly cunning. “You think if you raise a fuss these fine people will come to your aid? Now why would you do a thing like that? You’ll upset our new friend Rose.”

Sandor withdrew a curved dirk from his belt and placed it on the table. “Rose!” he called out, watching Jensen’s face for a reaction. “Come here and sit by me, love. My nephew and I would like some company with our meal.”

Jensen caught his intention right away and cursed himself as much as his devious captor. Rose plopped down on the bench next to Sandor and began chatting merrily away as she’d probably done with about a hundred other patrons before him, not sensing the snare that she had walked right into. Sandor nodded and gave a few one word answers to feign interest and keep her talking, but his eyes were issuing a challenge to Jensen alone. If Jensen tried to raise an alarm or get away, he’d slice Rose open.

Jensen glanced down at the dirk on the table. Sandor’s hand was hovering over it protectively but not actually touching, mostly likely so as not to alarm Rose. Jensen was fast but he wasn’t sure that he was fast enough to snatch the knife out from under Sandor’s hand before he could grab it. He didn’t know Rose but he didn’t want to be responsible for her death either. She’d been kind to him. Then an idea occurred to Jensen. It was a risk, but it might get both him and Rose out of harm’s way.

Jensen leaned back and dropped his hands into his lap, giving Sandor every indication that he was going to submit and play along with the other man’s wishes. He watched the gleam of triumph spark in Sandor’s smug look. It was exactly what Jensen was hoping for. To catch him off-guard.

Suddenly, Jensen slammed his hands against the bottom edge of the table in front of him and used all the strength he had to flip it on its side. The bench that Sandor and Rose had been sitting on was knocked over as they both jumped up in surprise. In the commotion, the knife had clattered to the floor and skittered away somewhere Jensen couldn’t see. But at least Sandor no longer had it either. He started screaming before Sandor could make a move.

“Help me! Please! He’s going to kill me!” he cried, stumbling away from Sandor like any normal helpless and frightened little boy. At least that’s what he hoped he looked like. Sandor looked like the sudden tactical disadvantage he found himself in amidst his drunken state was more than he’d bargained for.

Some of the men stood and moved towards them. They looked like sellswords and every one of them carried a blade on his hip. “What’s all this now?” one of them demanded.

“Please!” Jensen said, turning to the man. “This brute kidnapped me. Don’t let him hurt me again!”

“What are you on about boy?” Rose said, alarmed and confused.

“He’s a liar! I’m not his nephew. I’m his prisoner!” Jensen shouted at her. He pointed at his bandaged head. “He did this to me! He’s going to kill me!”

“He’s mad” Sandor growled. He was backing away, one hand reaching for the pommel of his greatsword. He was outnumbered and didn’t quite have all his wits about him. Jensen could have grinned if he wasn’t busy playing the helpless victim.

“I’m not!” he insisted. “He’s a liar! He wants to hurt me. Please sers, don’t let him hurt me anymore!”

The sellswords exchanged a glance with each other. Then one of them drew his sword and positioned himself in front of Jensen. “You will relinquish your sword!” he demanded of Sandor.

Jensen was nearly giddy with relief. They believed him and they were defending him. Gods bless their foolish souls.

Sandor drew his sword and attacked. The inn was suddenly the host of a bloody brawl.

Jensen cowered under a table when the fighting began, as he thought any normal little boy might. As he cowered, he scanned the floor looking Sandor’s forgotten knife. He spotted it on the floor near the hearth.

Jensen crept on his hands and knees around the edge of the room so as not to attract attention to himself. He kept a careful eye on the men. The sellswords seemed to be holding their own against Sandor. They had the numbers and the Hound had too much alcohol swimming in his system to be the fighter he normally was. Then Sandor locked eyes with him. Jensen froze.

The giant man roared and lunged for him. Jensen dove for the knife. Just as Sandor swung his sword up to strike him, one of the sellswords stuck him in the gut. Jensen saw his eyes go wide in shock. He scrambled to his feet and ran.

The sunlight nearly blinded him when he reached the front door and flung it open. He felt dizzy, his body reminding him that he was still very much weakened and hurting from his head injury. Jensen knew that he’d never get far on foot. He wasn’t even truly sure where he was, not knowing how far Sandor had taken him. He spotted the stables out of the corner of his eye and sent another prayer of thanks to the gods. He ran for them with as much desperate energy as he could muster.

Jensen opened the nearest stall, sending the wooden door crashing open. The horse inside shied away from the noise. He was a small sorrel palfrey who was still saddled, left waiting for his master’s return. Jensen grabbed for the bridle, but the horse ducked his head and shied away again with his eyes rolling in fear.

“That’s enough now! I’m in a hurry,” Jensen said, grabbing for the bridle again, this time managing to catch a hold of the leather.

The horse tried to yank its head away but Jensen held on tight. “Stop that, you craven! I’m not going to hurt you.” He was able to steady him long enough to climb into the saddle. Jensen dug his heels in and in they were out of the stable like a cannon shot.

Jensen road hard, wanting to put as much distance between him and the inn as possible. He didn’t know if the Hound was dead. It was a terrible wound for sure but he had no interest in waiting around to find out. He would be no man’s captive ever again.

Before long he found himself at a crossroad. He hesitated there, weighing his options. His family was dead. He had no one to go to. His beloved Winterfell was a little more now than a tomb. John was at the Wall which means he might as well have been on a faraway star. Sansa was still a prisoner at Kings Landing, if she was still alive. Jensen knew that in his current state he would be no help to his sister at all and would most likely end up as a prisoner himself. He thought about what Sandor has said about his aunt at The Eyrie. Unlike his Uncle Edmure, Lady Lysa had always been a stranger to him. Many said that since John Arryn’s death, Lysa had become hard and cruel under the weight of her grief. Jensen felt no comfort would be offered to him there. Even his more distant relatives, the Tully cousins from Riverrun, had been cut down at the Twins. He wasn’t sure who if any of them had survived, or if they would take him into their homes now as cursed as he was.

He thought about the Brotherhood and how safe he had felt there, but he knew that returning to their camp meant that he would have to face Jared again. Jensen felt his heart flutter as he held the image of that handsome face in his mind. Then he pictured Jared again as he had been at the end, kneeling as he took his vows. Knowingly breaking Jensen’s heart.

He felt the walls that he had built up inside himself start to crack and he instinctively turned his horse eastward. He couldn’t go back there. Jared was a weakness and he couldn’t afford to be anything but iron-strong anymore. He couldn’t go back to being the boy that he had been before. That poor lovesick fool had died at the Twins in a pool of his mother’s blood. Whoever he was now was someone different. Harder. Sharper.

Jensen followed the Kingsroad east for several days, resting when he could and pilfering food from the passing villages. He felt like a wild thing, feral and empty inside. His wound was healing but there was so much more pain inside, deep in his soul that seemed beyond mending.

When he came to the city of Saltpans, Jensen wandered amongst the market stalls and was overwhelmed by all the unfamiliar smells, bright colors, and cacophony of sounds. As a port city, Saltpans was filled with all manner of people from every culture in the realm. No one knew him here and for some reason he found comfort in his anonymity. He could be anything or anyone and everything in his past didn’t matter anymore because it had happened to someone else.

Jensen’s empty stomach quickly brought him back to reality. He was near starving and he had no coin. He didn’t dare steal food here as the market was heavily guarded by soldiers. Jensen didn’t know where their allegiances might lie as they wore no obvious sigils but he didn’t want to take the risk.

Instead Jensen led his horse, Craven, as he had been calling him, to the horse-traders. He met an old woman there who offered him somewhat less than he would have liked but he was desperate and didn’t have much choice. He patted the chestnut hide one last time, took one of the saddle bags to carry his gold in, and hurried off to the nearest food stall. He bought a hunk of cheese, three apples, a loaf of bread, and a lamprey pie. Jensen carried his small feast to the docks where he could sit at watch the boats in the harbor. He dug into the pie right away, and set the rest aside for later.

The sea air felt refreshingly cool and damp on his face. Jensen listened to the waves and the gulls as he finished his meal, closing his eyes against the warmth of the sun. For the first time since his mother’s death, he began to really breathe. He heard the creak and groan of the wooden ships, the flap of sails, and the whoosh of ropes being pulled taught. Over it all was the constant chatter of the sailors. Arguing, cat calling, laughing, shouting, and some even singing songs in languages that were foreign to his ear. He looked from ship to ship and noticed all the different shapes and sizes of them. Each one carried a different flag like multi-colored ambassadors of their homeland. One in particular stood out to him. The flag of Braavos.

Jensen felt for a pocket in the side of his tattered tunic. From it, he plucked the coin that Jaqen H’ghar had given him. He turned it over several times in his hand. Would it really work as the strange man had said?

He might as well try, Jensen thought to himself. He had nothing to lose and nowhere else to go. Jaqen would know what to do. He had been a friend once. He could teach him how to be a real assassin like he was and then Jensen would have the skills to reap the vengeance that he so desperately craved. He knew that it would be a dark path that he was headed down, but he no longer cared. Darkness and death followed him wherever he went. Maybe now he could learn to wield them for his gain.

Jensen approached the Braavosi ship, which bore the name _Titan’s Daughter_. Sailors were crawling all over her riggings and still more were loading goods and supplies into her hold. It was a bustling hive of activity and Jensen struggled to not let it intimidate him. He caught sight of a bandy-legged man with a thick curling mustache walking towards the gangplank of the ship carrying a barrel perched high on his shoulder. Jensen approached him with the coin fisted tightly in his hand.

“You there!” he said, catching the man’s attention.

He stopped and glared at Jensen with irritation evident on this face. “What is it boy?” he said. His accent reminded Jensen of Syrio.

“I want passage to Braavos. This ship is headed there, yes?”

The man scowled. “This is not a pleasure barge. We don’t carry little children.”

He made a move to sidestep him but Jensen blocked his path. “I can pay,” he said holding up the coin for him to see.

The sailor set down the barrel with a thud and grabbed his wrist, bringing the coin closer to his face to inspect it. “Where did you get this?” he demanded.

“A friend,” Jensen said, struggling to pull out of his firm grasp.

“You shouldn’t toy with things you don’t understand, boy,” he threatened. His stubby fingers tightened around Jensen’s thin wrist hard enough to bruise.

Jensen met his menacing stare with one of his own. As the words were whispered from his lips, he could almost taste their power. He would never be powerless again.

“ _Valar Morghulis_ ”


	15. Chapter 15

Five Years Later...

 

On his eighteenth name-day, the Brotherhood had celebrated by getting Jared stinking drunk and buying him a whore. Her name was Angie and she had sad green eyes shaped like almonds. She was at least twice his age but it was hard to tell in the dim candlelight. Her thick curly hair was the color of a crow’s wing and her breasts were impossibly large. His bloodshot eyes had almost popped right out of his head when she had disrobed. She had laughed knowingly and said, “Lovely aren’t they? I was a wet-nurse when I was younger than you are now. But this pays better.” His wine-fogged brain only registered bits and pieces of that night. What little he did recall was just awkward and embarrassing. At some point he had woken up, crawled out of Angie’s bed, and retched up most of the tart wine. Angie had rubbed his back and called him her “poor sweet boy.”

In the morning she fetched a cool cloth for his head and made him drink nearly a whole pitcher of water. She ran her fingers through his damp hair and massaged his scalp. She smiled when his eyes closed at her expert touch and she whispered to him, “There my sweet boy. Feeling yourself again? Now for your name-day, my gift to you will be to teach you the _proper_ way to bed a woman. Pay close attention and you’ll have your reward.” She had done as good as her word, and when they parted she kissed his cheek and tousled his hair affectionately, well satisfied with her pupil.

In the years since then he’d lain with his fair share of girls, all of them eager to snatch up the big handsome boy with brooding blue-green eyes. But he cared for none of them and more often than not all he felt when he was with them was self-loathing. Jeyne Heddle had warmed his bed on more than one occasion, but he feared that she was starting to imagine them as man and wife. He liked her company but he didn’t want to mislead her, so for a while now he had kept his distance from her. Since then their friendship had become strained, and he had come to dread days like today when his duties to the Brotherhood took him to the Crossroads Inn where she worked. It would be so easy to relent and settle down with Jeyne, but when he closed his eyes at night all he saw was Jensen. Always Jensen.

His image in Jared’s mind haunted him like a specter. He remembered so clearly the sadness in Jensen’s eyes when he had betrayed him. At the time he thought he had been doing the right thing, the only thing he could do since fate conspired to keep them apart. To go north with him to Winterfell and stay on as his brother’s blacksmith would have been a daily torture for them both, knowing Jensen was destined to leave him when he was eventually wedded to another. In pledging himself to the Brotherhood, Jared had hoped that Jensen would forget him and be able to find happiness. Something Jared knew in his heart that he’d never have again without him.

Now suddenly here he was at last. Jensen - real and in the flesh. Close enough to touch. Standing in the doorway of the inn like a waking dream. Jared instantly forgot every woman he’d ever seen.

The feelings came flooding back over him in a rushing wave so great that it nearly made him physically stumble under their weight. The pretty boy he knew had become a breathtakingly beautiful man. He was dressed in a simple white shirt and dun-colored breeches tucked into tall leather boots with a swordbelt slung low across his hips. His features had sharpened some and his skin had a honeyed glow from the sun, turning his light freckles to caramel and adding hints of gold to his dark blonde hair. The gentle angles of his lithe figure had been replaced by tight muscle and sinew, accentuating the broad width of his shoulders and the trim line of his waist. Only his eyes remained unchanged, glittering green like exotic gemstones - and just as cold.

Jared moved towards him like a man dying of thirst in the desert who had finally found his oasis. Then he felt the tip of a sword at his throat and he stopped dead in his tracks. “Jensen,” he said in wonder. He hadn’t even seen the other man pull it from it’s sheath.

“I should slit your throat where you stand _Ser_ Jared,” he said, drawing out the word in disgust. His voice was deeper now, rougher, but the anger in his words had a way of cutting Jared to the quick just like they had all those years ago.

“Do it then, and put me out of my misery.” He meant every word.

“Do you think I jest, Ser?” Jensen said, pushing the sword’s point slightly harder against his neck. “Because I assure you I do not.”

Jared stepped forward, forcing the blade to ride up his throat and prick the soft flesh under his chin. “No m’lord, I trust you at your word. Please, do us both a favor and make it quick,” he said as a droplet of blood trickled down his skin.

Jensen watched it fall and then stepped back, lowering his sword. He sat down at the closest table and used the hem of his shirt to wipe the blood off of his blade, all the while keeping his furious glare fixed on Jared. “I’d rather let you live if it causes you such agony to do so. I want you to suffer as a traitor should,” he snarled at him.

Jared nodded his head, stricken dumb by his harsh words. He sat down heavily and simply stared at him, still unable to believe he was really there. He was afraid that if he looked away Jensen would disappear into the ether again. “I thought you were dead,” he managed after a few moments.

“I thought I was too, for a time” Jensen replied cryptically. “Many times I wished I was. But the God of Death wasn’t ready for me yet.”

Jeyne appeared out of nowhere, thumping down a pint of ale in front of Jared and making her presence known. “Who’s this then?” she said raising an eyebrow at Jensen. Jared searched for the words to describe what the other man was to him but no description seemed large enough.

“I’m Jensen. An old friend of Jared’s. May I trouble you for a pint, miss?”

“Jeyne,” she supplied. “Be right back” she said with a none too subtle warning in her voice.

“Jeyne,” Jensen repeated simply, smirking at Jared.

Jared felt his face grow red. “Yes, she runs the inn and looks after the orphans that the Brothers bring to her,” he stammered out. “She’s a friend. Just a friend.”

Jeyne returned and slammed the drink down in front of Jensen. Wordlessly she retreated to the fireplace and stirred the large cauldron that bubbled there. The rich smell of the stew filled the air.

Jensen watched her stir, the smirk he leveled at Jared turning cruel. “Liar. If that’s all it is now I’ll stake my life that it was something much more for a time at least. Most women are as easy to read as pages in a book and that woman there is jealous enough to kill me and stick me in her stew.”

“Jensen, I thought you were dead.” There was a plea in his voice that he couldn’t quite conceal. Tears stood in his eyes and Jared blinked them back in embarrassment.

Jensen looked lost for a moment, undone by the torment on Jared’s face. “I’m tired” he said finally with a hint of regret. “I want a bath and a bed.”

Jared nodded silently and rose to lead him upstairs. 

"Jared!” Jeyne called after them. Her desperate tone fell on deaf ears.

Jared showed Jensen to his own room and lit a fire for him in the hearth while Jensen sat on the bed and pulled his boots off, tossing them carelessly in a corner. Jared fetched the small washtub and dragged it into the room, setting a large iron kettle filled with water to boil over the fire. “Are you hungry?” he asked.

“I could eat. If there’s anything about that Jeyne hasn’t already poisoned for me.”

Jared went downstairs and ladled out a bowl of stew while Jeyne stood by staring daggers at him. He brought the bowl up to Jensen who began to eat as if it had been many days since his last meal. Jared set about drawing his bath, making sure to temper the cool well water with the boiling water from the kettle. It took several trips back and forth, and while he worked he tried to calm the anxiety that was rolling his stomach into knots. Five years ago Jensen had left and it had broken him. In that time, he had become The Bull. A solemn man, a ferocious warrior, and a harbinger of death for any Lannister sellsword who dared come within striking distance of his war hammer. Each life he took added another brick in the wall around his heart. Now here Jensen was, breaking down all his defenses and laying him bare with a simple look. Gown men throughout the riverlands cowered at the mere mention of his name, and yet Jensen terrified him to his core. If the brothers could see him now they’d laugh themselves sick, he thought to himself.

Jared stuck his hand in the bath to test it and found the water pleasantly warm. “It’s ready” he said.

Jensen stood, setting his bowl on the floor. He stretched his arms languidly like a cat, the firelight playing artfully over his features. Jared crossed to him as if in a trance, barely aware of what he was doing. In that moment he felt that he existed only for this man and he let that feeling guide him. He started to uncinch his for him swordbelt and Jensen smacked his hands away. “What are you doing?” he asked staring up at him.

Honestly, Jared was only half sure of what he was doing. He knew that he was skating a dangerous path, but one of the best parts about them had always been the playful push and pull of wills. Maybe they could have that again.

“You asked for a bath and a bed,” Jared reminded him.

Jensen cocked his head to one side in question.

“As my lord commands,” Jared replied. A wink back at their old teasing ways. His words were soft but his eyes issued a challenge.

Jensen glared at him warily for a long moment. Finally he nodded for him to continue. He had never been one for backing down.

Jared took off the sword-belt and hung it on the back of a chair by the fire. He reached down and unlaced Jensen’s breeches, letting them slide down to pool at his feet. He only broke eye contact with him for the briefest of moments when he pulled Jensen’s shirt up over his head. By some kind of magic, Jensen was playing along with this game and Jared felt like the slightest misstep on his part would break the spell. He held his breath for a moment before he risked speech. “Turn around.”

Jensen raised an eyebrow at him but obeyed.

Jared felt a shift in the air. The game was forgotten and something else had taken its place. Something raw and fragile that whispered back to stolen moments in a dark stone forge. Gently, he pulled down Jensen’s smallclothes and let them join the rest on the floor.

Naked, Jensen turned to face him. He was magnificent and somehow not the least bit less intimidating than if he had been standing there in a full suit of armor. Jared took him by the hand and lead him to the washtub. Jensen stepped in and sat down with all the easy grace of a prince at court. Then Jared went over to a chest at the bottom of his bed and retrieved a thick bar of soap. He knelt down next to the tub and began to wash the other man clean.

Neither of them spoke a word as he ran the soap gently across Jensen’s skin. Jared noticed several old bruises and quite a few scars, including a long ragged one across his back. From the look of it, it was a wonder that he had survived the attack. Jensen watched his face the whole time, but Jared kept his eyes down like a dutiful servant. It tortured him to do so, but he instinctively knew that what Jensen needed most just then was his care, not his lust. He heard the other man’s breath hitch several times as he worked and watched the skin flush under his hands, but still he said nothing. When he was finished he lathered up the soap in his hands and washed Jensen’s hair, pouring clean water over his head carefully with a pitcher. The silence between them was heavy with half a decade’s worth of words left unsaid.

Clean now from head to toe, Jared helped Jensen out of the tub and rubbed him dry with a large linen cloth. He combed through the wet spikes of his hair with his fingers, scritching the base of his scalp until Jensen closed his eyes and let out a quiet sigh. When he was finished, Jensen turned to face him. There were tears running down his face.

Jared had seen him rage, laugh, tremble with fear, and even kill. But he had never seen him cry this way before. Like there was a well of sadness inside of him that had no end. It cut him deeper than any spiteful oath Jensen could’ve flung at him. “Hush, sweetling,” he said wiping the tears away the pad of his thumb.

Jared tossed back the blanket on his bed and gently directed Jensen to lay down. He stripped himself down to his breeches and then climbed in next to him. Jensen turned on his side to face him as fresh tears formed in his eyes. “You left me,” he whispered. “Everyone leaves me but I never thought you would. Then you did and I hated you so much for it.”

He might as well have driven his sword through Jared’s heart. “I have paid for it every day since the Hound took you,” he said on a ragged breath. “I know that I don’t deserve you. I thought that it was kinder to let you hate me for breaking my promise than follow you to Winterfell where we’d just be a reminder to each other of what could never be. But I know now that I was craven and selfish. I couldn’t bear to watch you marry someone else.” He stopped before he fell apart completely. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, damning himself for the foolish child he had been.

Several minutes passed in silence. Then Jared felt Jensen place his hand in his. Their fingers laced together naturally. He sighed deeply and let all the tension in his body go. He rubbed the back of Jensen’s hand with his thumb affectionately. Jensen curled toward him, resting his head on Jared’s shoulder. They fell asleep like that, with their hands still clasped together. It felt like absolution.

~~~

Dust particles dancing in a beam of sunlight. That was the first thing that Jensen saw when opened his eyes the next morning. The second was Jared, bare to the waist and laid out next to him in bed. The sight of him and the warm flutter of desire in his own belly that immediately followed quickly snapped Jensen’s mind fully awake. He couldn’t afford to dwell on that. He had a mission to complete.

Jensen crept out of bed slowly with the stealth of a cat. As he slipped back into his clothes, he kept a careful eye on Jared for any sign that he might be waking. His slow and measured breathing meant that he was thankfully still deep in sleep. It was important that Jared didn’t notice his absence before he could sneak back into bed. He didn’t want him to ask any questions. Not that Jensen couldn’t lie if he needed to. But he had learned the hard way that the less lies you have to tell, the less lies you have to remember if you’re confronted with them later.

He made his way down to the back door of the inn and out into the chill early morning air. Several yards away was a scattering of apple trees. The previous innkeeper’s attempt at an orchard. The apples were small and just this side of sour but for Jensen’s purposes the trees were exactly what he needed. With practiced skill and economy of movement, he swung himself up into the branches of the tallest tree. Removing a cotton handkerchief from his pocket, he tied it to the highest bough so that the stark white cloth could be seen at a distance. Snagging an apple on the way down, he landed nimbly on his feet and leaned back against the tree trunk to wait.

He pursed his lips around the sour bite of the apple and wiped the juice from his chin with the back of his hand. As he did, he noticed the smell of Jared’s soap on his skin. It reminded him of the bath the night before and how impossibly tender he had been. Caring and patient without pressing him for more than he was willing to give. Jensen couldn’t remember the last time that anyone had treated him like that. Like a person and not a weapon. He had thought that he would have to fake his tears like he had so many times before to play the vulnerable young man in love. He hadn’t considered that when the time came, when it was Jared, that it wouldn’t be an act at all. He had thought that those feelings had died a long time ago when he had left his old life behind. But now that he was here with Jared again it had all come back to him as if it had been just yesterday.

The Dothraki had called him Az Aheshki, “The Blade of Winter” for the icy calm with which he killed. Before that, he had been known by many other names in many other tongues, although more often than not he thought of himself as No One. No One who could never be caught. No One who was unbreakable. No One who couldn’t feel pain or the weakness of love. He was already anxious to return to the temple of the House of Black and White where he at least knew who he was. A Faceless Man, a cold-blooded assassin and loyal servant of the God of Death. Being Jensen Stark again was much harder than he thought it would be.

The trill of a sparrow sounded out close by, shaking Jensen from his dark thoughts. He echoed the signal and moments later a spindle-thin man approached, seemingly appearing out of thin air. He already wore a scowl on his pock-marked face and Jensen could guess at the reason why, but he didn’t stir from his relaxed pose against the tree. Jensen knew it would irritate him and he was just in the right mood to provoke the other man a little.

“If I had a bow, I could have killed you a dozen times over already,” the man said as he snatched the apple from Jensen’s hand and took a large bite. “You know better than to let your guard down.”

“If you killed me, you’d have to carry this out by yourself, Retch,” Jensen countered. “Besides, you still owe me for that time in Lys.”

Retch spat out the half-chewed apple in disgust. “I owe you nothing. I would have been able to kill that fat old Tyroshi and gotten out without being seen if you hadn’t intervened.”

“The target was the boy, Edric, not his tutor.”

“The target is whoever I damn well say the target is. I don’t give a fig for your damn rules. You and your Black and White brothers stick to your code and your bloody rules if it pleases you but the only god I serve is gold. I could have gotten a king’s ransom for his silk slippers alone.”

Jensen sighed. This was why he preferred to work alone.

For years he’d hunted men as a hired assassin, trained by the Faceless Men – ruthless killers who came to the House of Black and White from every corner of the known world to learn their mysterious ways and to devote their lives to serving the God of Death. The only god who all men are sure to meet someday. Shortly after his training had been completed, he was contracted to seek out what remained of the dead King Robert’s bastards and kill them so that none could threaten the line of succession to the Iron Throne. The man who had hired him had kept himself hidden in shadow and his face shrouded by a thick cowl. Not that his identity mattered to Jensen. Targaryen, Baratheon, Lannister, or Tyrell – the Faceless Men held no allegiance to any of them past the power of their coin. Retch had been an unhappy addition to his burden and one of the main conditions of the job. It was the sellsword’s responsibility to confirm each kill to his master and make sure that Jensen didn’t fail. It was insulting and unnecessary.

Jensen knew that whoever issued the order was counting on his former connection to the Brotherhood Without Banners to find Jared. At the same time, that connection – for what it was – made his employer paranoid about his ability to see the task through. If Jensen had been able to meet them face to face he would have been able to put those fears to rest. He had no intention of going back on his word. At least he hadn’t until last night. Now he wasn’t so sure.

“So,” Retch prompted anxiously. “Is it done?”

“Not yet.”

“Why in the Seven Hells not?” Retch screeched.

Jensen hushed him, glancing furtively up to the open window of Jared’s room. “Quiet! I don’t want him to wake and find me gone. You’ll spoil everything.”

Retch squinted his mud brown eyes in suspicion. “You had no issue with the others. Young Edric, the Stone girl at the Vale, and that whore Bella. What makes this one any different?” The ugly little man’s face twisted in a sneer. “Was the great Bull too much for you to handle, then? It’s one thing killing simpering little princes and witless girls but it takes skill to kill a real warrior. Especially one the likes of him. Or maybe you were you hoping for a go at his _war hammer_ before you sliced him open? What’s the matter? He didn’t fall to his knees at your feet like you wanted him to?” Retch laughed. “Careful, lad. Those legendary charms of yours must be slipping.”

Retch was dead before he hit the ground. Jensen might have some explaining to do for it later but at least the dreadful man’s incessant prattling was over. His employer might not yet be satisfied but at least the God of Death would have his due that day.

Dispassionately, he slung the body over his shoulder and buried it under the inn’s trash pile to mask the smell. He cleaned himself off in the icy-cold well water and wiped down his blade before returning it to the sheath concealed in his boot. He had to hurry. Jared should be waking up soon.


	16. Chapter 16

In the hazy space between his dreams and his waking life, Jared felt the weight of slightly smaller body next to his in bed. Solid, warm, and smelling of a familiar musky-sweet maleness that he wanted to sink right into. He knew who it belonged to without even having to open his eyes. Instinctively he turned into it, nuzzling his face against smooth skin and tasting its salty tang on his lips. “Jensen.”

If he had been more aware of himself at that moment he might not have been so bold but the early morning hours had always been _their_ time. A magic hour before the rest of the world came to life for the day and it was just the two of them alone with no one to judge them. He hoped that some of that magic had survived and would make Jensen more indulgent towards his affections. He soon found out that he needn’t have been so concerned.

No sooner had he placed a light kiss on the bare flat of Jensen’s shoulder blade than Jensen flipped them over and pressed himself down against the length of Jared’s body. His mouth latched onto the thin skin over the pulse in Jared’s neck and sucked while his hands dove roughly into the front of Jared’s breeches. It was fast and aggressive and not at all what he had expected.

Jared’s senses were assaulted by the sudden rush of pleasure. His cock thickened immediately at Jensen’s demanding touch and his flesh burned with feverish kisses that seemed to find every sensitive spot on his body yet stubbornly ignored his mouth. By the time he had gotten control of himself long enough to reverse their positions and pin Jensen back on the bed his heart felt like it was going to burst through his chest.

“Jensen, wait. Slow down.”

Jensen would hear none of it however. He was naked just as he’d been when he’d fallen asleep the night before and he didn’t hesitate in using his body to demonstrate that slow wasn’t the speed he was interested in. He wrapped his legs around Jared’s hips, rutting and rubbing his cock into Jared’s stomach. “Come on, Jared. Fuck me. Don’t think about it. Just take me like I know you want to.”

And Jared did want. More than anything in the world he wanted to bury himself inside Jensen’s body and claim it for his own but not this way. There was no telling what Jensen had been through or what’d he’d experienced in the years since they’d last seen each other but if his brazen talk and the masterful way he moved against him was any indication then he was far from the innocent young boy he once knew. It was too late to undo the past now but they didn’t have to let it color the present moment. Jared didn’t want to be like everyone else he might have had. He wanted to be special to Jensen because Jensen was special to him. He didn’t want to use him like he was some common tavern wench. He wanted to make _love_ to him and he wasn’t going to let either one of them settle for anything less. Now all he had to do was get Jensen to cooperate with his plan.

Using all of his considerable strength, he held Jensen’s arms down in place above his head and captured his mouth in a kiss. It was tantalizing and deliberately slow to help calm the desperation that seemed to hum through the young man’s body. Time and time again Jensen tried to fight against the methodical pace of Jared’s tongue as it delved into his mouth and licked the flavor from it like he was enjoying a desert of thickly whipped cream. He tried to use his teeth and made little whines of frustration but Jared refused to give an inch. When Jensen finally started to respond in kind to his kisses Jared knew he had won their little battle. There would of course be more before they were finished.

Next he moved down Jensen’s body, trailing a line of kissing’s down his chest and stomach to keep his lover subdued. He didn’t know much about how to please another man’s body other than the limited amount of experimenting that they’d done with each other in the past and what he’d enjoyed with a small handful of willing women. That didn’t deter him however. He took Jensen’s cock in his mouth and mimicked what he knew he liked, hoping that his attempts would be as successful.

Jensen moaned, arching his body off the bed with such force that Jared had to hold him down with the press of a forearm against his navel. The wanton sound of it and the half-formed noises and grunts that came after drove Jared wild. He did his best to contain his own lust as he suckled and licked teasingly slow, breaking down Jensen’s defenses layer by layer. When he felt Jensen’s cock start to twitch in his mouth and he knew that his release was getting close he stopped, not wanting to let it end yet.

“Don’t stop. Don’t stop, damn you! You can’t leave me like this,” Jensen complained. His face was flushed and his eyes were dark with arousal, almost wild.

“I’m not,” Jared promised him, whispering the words against the spur of his hipbone. “I’m just getting started.”

He punctuated his words with a light kiss and got up from the bed just long enough to strip off his breeches and retrieve a small vial of oil from his trunk. Another trick that the whore Angel Angie had taught him. No fear of putting a bastard in some girl’s belly when a well-slicked ass felt twice as nice.

As soon as Jensen saw the bottle of oil he startled him by turning over and getting up on his hands and knees. “Hurry. Just do it. I don’t want to wait.” He was presenting himself shamelessly like a bitch in heat and it took everything that Jared had not to take him just like that.

Rather than argue with him, Jared just gave his ankles a good yank so that his knees slipped out from under him. Jensen landed on his stomach with an oomph and Jared used that moment of surprise to flip him on his back again. He knelt in the space between of Jensen’s legs nudged them wider, drizzling some oil into his hand. “Just relax, sweetling,” he said, rubbing the oil between his palm and his fingertips to warm it some. “I’ll take care of you.”

Before Jensen could complain about his manhandling, Jared covered his body with his own and kissed him deeply, distracting him while he slipped a finger between the cleft of Jensen’s ass and pressed it into his hole. Jensen gasped into his mouth and jolted on the bed, grabbing the coarse cotton sheets for purchase. If he felt any discomfort he didn’t show it, instead pressing back into Jared’s finger to take it deeper. Jared wouldn’t let him though. He was going to do this as slow as possible. His intent wasn’t to torture or to make it into a match of wills. Simply to worship Jensen and make him see how deeply he was loved by giving him as much pleasure as he knew how to.

Jensen mewled and writhed, trying to urge him on and dispense with his preparations altogether but Jared ignored his pleas, his curses, and even his insults. Instead he focused on what Jensen’s body was telling him. Where to touch and where to rub to make him tremble. How much pressure to use to keep his release close but just out of reach. The delicate inner muscles fought against him at first but with some gentle massaging he coaxed them open. When they were stretched wide enough to take three of his fingers with ease he replaced them with his cock.

“Oh gods yes!” Jensen moaned. “Fuck me.” He bucked his hips wildly, forcing Jared deeper before there was even much time for either of them to adjust.

The tight slick heat was almost more than Jared could bear to take. The fact that it was Jensen whose body he was fitted snugly inside at last – _his Jensen_ – was enough to make him lose his composure entirely for a moment. He plunged forward as deep as he could go, forcing another moan from them both.

“Yes!” Jensen cried. “That’s it. Do it, Jay. _Hard_.”

That snapped Jared right back to his senses. Jensen seemed to want to use it as just a quick way to let off steam. Impersonal as a handshake. Maybe even a little painful too, which Jared didn’t understand at all. Didn’t he know that he deserved so much better?

Hooking his arms underneath Jensen’s knees, Jared pushed them back until he was almost folded in half. With Jensen pinned underneath him and unable to move much, Jared was able to control the pace and hold his eye contact so he was sure that what he said next would actually get heard.

“Look at me,” Jared demanded. He fucked into Jensen in short grinding thrusts. “I love you. Do you hear me? I love you. Feel it, Jen. I know you can.”

Jensen was shaking, clawing at Jared’s back and shoulders mindlessly as he drove into him. “Jared, please. It’s too much. I can’t.”

But Jared refused to yield. He rocked his hips relentlessly, swiveling them on each thrust to push Jensen closer and closer to the edge. “Yes, you can. You can, love. Don’t deny what’s real.”

Jensen threw back his head on a high-pitched moan and screwed his eyes up tight. Tears trickled down from their corners. He looked like he was about to fly apart at the seams.

“I know you’re scared, but you don’t have to be,” Jared said, sliding a hand under the back of his neck. “I love you. I love you more than anything and I’m never going to stop.” He angled Jensen’s head up for a kiss, passionate and deep.

Jensen broke. Jared wasn’t sure if it was his words or the onslaught of sensation that had just become too much for him to resist but he felt the change in Jensen and he saw the relief on his face as he finally let go. He felt Jensen responding to the kiss, matching the movements of Jared’s lips and his tongue with his own as he buried his fingers in Jared’s hair. Feeling him give like that - allowing himself to just accept what Jared was trying to give him - made the pleasure that had been winding itself tighter and tighter in Jared’s body snap loose.

He felt his cock throb inside Jensen as he started to come and he broke their kiss, moaning loud as his vision started to go blurry around the edges. His hips began pistoning themselves fast and unrestrained as he lost any semblance of control.

Jensen’s muscles tensed all around him and his fingernails dug into Jared’s shoulders. “Yes! Yes! Yes!,” he cried. “Oh god. I fucking love it.”

Jared thrust forward, fucking through his orgasm as it crashed through him in waves. His cock spilled forth warm pulses of come, slicking the way and making each peak more intense than the last. Jared took hold of Jensen’s cock, leaking wet and hard, and started stroking it in time with the movement of his hips. “Say it,” he demanded. He could almost hear the words screaming through Jensen’s head but he needed to hear them out loud. “I want to hear you say it.”

“Ah, Fuck! Jay, please! I-I love you. I love you, okay? Love you so fucking much.” Jensen’s body locked up and he came shouting Jared’s name, spurting hot ropes of come so hard that they painted his chest.

Jared didn’t think it was possible but he felt his cock throb with one last flood of release as another orgasm rushed through him before the first had even fully subsided. It was more than his body could handle. He let Jensen’s legs fall back to the bed and slipped his spent cock free, collapsing next to him on his side in exhaustion.

What Jensen did next would have shocked the breath out of him if he had any to spare. He laid his head on Jared’s chest and flung his arm around his middle, curling his body into Jared’s like a child. He could feel Jensen’s tears on his skin and the pounding of his heart like a little frightened bird. “I’m sorry,” he sobbed, shuddering against him. “I’m sorry.”

Jared was too wrung out to ask. He just knew that Jensen was upset and emotionally raw from what they’d both just experienced. Probably more vulnerable than he’d been in a long long time. Even though he was nearly a man now at seven and ten years old and had a man’s body he still needed comfort and Jared gave it without question.

“Hush, love,” he said, rubbing circles into Jensen’s back. “It’s alright. Everything will be alright.” He kissed the top of Jensen’s head. “Go back to sleep a while. Just lie back with me and sleep.”

Jared fell asleep with his hand still splayed across the middle of Jensen’s back, warm and sated and secure in the knowledge that Jensen still loved him after all.

Jensen lay awake, staring into the dark room as the morning light crept over the windowsill.  Silent tears still running down his face.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional warnings for this chapter: References to suicidal thoughts, and past sexual experiences with dubious consent.

Jensen sat alone at the end of the bed. He was half-dressed and flipping his knife in the air thoughtfully as he watched Jared sleep.

He’d failed. He wanted to treat this like so many other jobs but Jared went and ruined it.

One thing about Jensen was that in the course of his training he’d learned to hone the skills that came naturally to him and he also learned to work around his limitations. He was strong and he was lightening quick but he was still waiting on the promise of another growth spurt and he knew that he could never take a man Jared’s size in straightforward hand to hand combat. In such a situation he would normally turn to the most reliable tool in his arsenal – seduction. There had been more times than he could count when he’d used a false identity to get close to a target, charm his way into their bed, and then catch them at their most vulnerable. Poison dripped into their sleeping mouths or a quick stab of his blade through the soft spot under their necks would swiftly dispatch an otherwise potentially dangerous foe or allow him to slip away undetected before anyone could sound an alarm.

It hadn’t been easy at first.   He’d been so young then and so naively arrogant, thinking he could tackle any new challenge set in front of him and never falter. But he’d been wrong. He’d felt empty and hollow inside afterwards, too empty even to cry. The kill hadn’t bothered him so much. He’d already killed a score of men by then. What had bothered him the most was being intimate in that way with a total stranger – a greasy-haired Myrish sea captain who made his skin crawl. Jensen found that if he could disconnect his mind from his body it wasn’t as bad. Fast, hard, and impersonal was the best way to get through it while keeping himself insulated from what was actually happening. He found that the addition of some pain made it even more clear in his mind. He could take that pain and channel it into hate. Hate gave him something to focus on and made the kill afterward that much more satisfying.

He’d known long before he even left Braavos that killing Jared would be next to impossible for him to do but he had been determined to see his mission through anyway. Not for his employer’s sake but for his own. It was the only way forward he saw for himself. He was going to kill Jared and return to the House of the Black and White where he could be among his fellow brothers when the God of Death would finally deliver his reward. Or he was going to die right there in that room above the inn by Jared’s hands. Either way he was going to get what he wanted. What he’d prayed for so desperately.

Now he knew that he wasn’t strong enough to see his plan through. Between last night and that morning Jared had managed to strip away all of his defenses and make him feel things that he thought he’d be able to keep locked away inside himself forever. He given pleasure when Jensen was counting on pain to keep his heart protected. He’d made Jensen stay connected to him and to his own body where he couldn’t pretend that Jared didn’t matter. Worst of all, he’d forced Jensen to admit - most importantly to himself - that he was still in love with him.

It had been like a dam had been opened inside of him and now he couldn’t stem the feelings that were flooding through. Guilt, remorse, shame, and disgust at what he’d let himself become. It all came crashing down on him. In its wake, Jensen decided that the only option he had left was to tell Jared the truth and hope that he’d be merciful. At the moment, he was waiting patiently for Jared to wake up so that he could do just that.

Finally, Jared started to stir. He rolled over and reached for the place where Jensen had been next to him and finding it vacant, propped himself up on his elbow and blinked his eyes open. Jensen watched his expression shift from confusion to relief at seeing him sitting there. Then again from relief to alarm when he caught sight of the knife.

“Jensen?” he asked cautiously. “What’s going on?”

Jensen took a steadying breath before he spoke. “There are things I need to tell you,” he began. “You said you loved me. Well when you’ve heard everything that’s probably going to change. I just want you to know that I won’t blame you.”

Jared sat up straight against the head of the bed. “That won’t happen.”

Jensen handed him the blade. “Take this. You’re going to need it.”

“Why?” Jared looked from Jensen to the knife in his hand in confusion. “Jensen, whatever it is just tell me the truth.”

“The truth is I came here to kill you.”

“What?” Jared looked like he’d just been stabbed in the gut.

“You and all the rest of Robert Baratheon’s bastards that the Lannisters hadn’t already rooted out. I visited them all one by one and I delivered them to Death as quickly and as painlessly as I could. You’re the last.”

“No. No!” Jared shouted, staring at him in horror. His eyes welled with tears for the half-brothers and sisters he never knew. “I don’t believe it. How could you?”

Jensen’s reply was simple and bloodless. “I was hired to.”

For a long moment Jared was silent as he absorbed what Jensen had said. Jensen could see the rage and the betrayal simmering like molten steel in his eyes. “By who?”

“I don’t know,” Jensen confessed wearily. “It doesn’t matter. That’s not why I said yes.”

Jared exploded, clenching the handle of the knife in his fist. “It doesn’t matter?” he shouted. “Do you really hate me that much? Did everything between us mean so little?”

“No,” Jensen repeated in frustration. “That’s not why I agreed to it. You don’t understand.”

“Then make me understand!” Jared demanded angrily. “Why would you do this?”

Jensen jumped up to his feet and spun to face him. “Because it’s the greatest sin I could think of!” he shouted. Just saying the words made something inside of him start to crumble.

Jared looked at him like he started speaking in tongues. “What?”

Jensen fell to his knees in prostration beside Jared’s bed as his confession spilled out. “He won’t take me, Jared! I’ve wanted to die for so long. So many times I should have been killed and I wasn’t. So many times I’ve wished for it, tried to let it happen, _make_ it happen. But the God of Death still doesn’t reward me. I’ve sent him so many souls – men, women, children. He’s never satisfied. Then I was given this assignment and I thought it was a sign. This was my chance, you see. I thought if Death won’t grant me my final peace for the devotion I’ve shown him then I would force his hand. I would commit the ultimate sin. My offense would be so foul that he couldn’t ignore me any longer and he would finally strike me from this earth.”

Jared recoiled from him like he was a rabid dog. “And you believe this _ultimate sin_ would be to kill me and my blood-kin?”

“No,” Jensen admitted. “Just you. The others were to fulfill my obligation. I knew they were dead either way whether I accepted or not. If it wasn’t by my hand it would be someone else who wouldn’t be as merciful. But my real goal was always you.”

“I don’t understand,” Jared cried. “What makes me so special? What am _I_ to _your_ god?”

“Nothing,” Jensen replied. He tried to explain even though the words were slowly tearing him to pieces. “It’s about what you are to me. Your soul speaks to mine like none other ever has or ever will. Killing the only person I’ve ever loved - that is the worst possible thing I could do. There would be no redemption left for me after that. It would be unforgivable.”

Jared shook his head miserably. “You’re insane.”

Jensen wished silently to himself that it was that simple. “If you’d seen the things that I’ve seen you might be too.”

“I don’t understand,” Jared repeated adamantly. “If you’re so hellbent on killing me why haven’t you done it yet? You’ve had any number of chances to. Why didn’t you?” He glared at Jensen, pain evident in his face. “What do you have to gain from toying with me like this?”

“I couldn’t do it, Jared. I can’t do it,” Jensen said, trying as best he could to put his feelings into words. “I knew it would be hard. The hardest thing I’ve ever done. But I didn’t think…After all those years of training, all those years of feeling nothing, of being No One - I didn’t think there was anything left of _me_ that would stay my hand. I was wrong.”

Jared clenched his teeth and held the knife up, pointing it at Jensen’s throat. “I should kill you.”

Jensen lifted his chin, exposing his neck. “Try if you can. I won’t stop you.”

“Why do you want to die so badly?”

Jensen swallowed, finding a lump in his throat. “Because living hurts too much.”

“Coward,” Jared snarled.

“I failed them, Jay. I failed my family,” Jensen said, his voice taking on an edge of plea. To Jared to understand and for his ghosts to forgive him. “I couldn’t protect my mother or Robb. I sought revenge for my father’s death and I wasn’t strong enough to see it through. I wasn’t there to save Bran or Rickon and I abandoned Sansa to the Lannisters. I had nothing. Not even you anymore. So I gave myself to the Faceless Men because they could teach me how to be strong. They took away all the pain and they gave me a purpose.”

“To kill innocent people.”

“Mostly all of them were anything but innocent. Odds are good that if I’m called to pay you a visit you deserve killing.” It was the mantra that Jensen told himself everyday to help him sleep at night. “But you’re right,” he added. “A few of them were innocents. Which means that I deserve killing too. Doesn’t it?”

He felt silent, his question hanging heavy in the air between them. Long moments passed in silence while he waited for the knife to slice through his throat. He was ready to die if Jared could see fit to make it happen.

Then Jared surprised him by dropping the knife, letting it fall from his hand. His eyes held such a well of misery that it made Jensen ache inside. “It’s not for me to judge you, Jensen,” he said sadly. “I’ve killed my fair share of men in the name of war and that burden weighs just as heavy on me as it weighs on you. If you’re looking for me to play executioner for you then I’m sorry. I won’t do that either. You don’t deserve to die. You deserve to suffer your ghosts just like I have to suffer mine. It’s the price men like us have to pay.”

Jensen blinked at him in astonishment. He’d never considered that Jared would just let him go once he’d learned the whole horrible truth. “I don’t understand you.”

“I don’t expect you to,” Jared commented ruefully. “So what happens now? You’re not going to kill me?”

“No.”

“And I’m not going to kill you. Looks like we’re at a stalemate.”

Jensen’s mind scrambled to catch up. His heart felt like it was torn in two but he forced himself to shove that aside for now. There would be time later to deal with that. He knew that whoever had hired him had to be powerful, resourceful, and determined to see their plans prevail. As long as Jared was still alive he’d be in danger.

“You have to disappear, Jared,” he told him. “I can buy you some time. I’ll send them a decoy. It might even fool them. But if whoever hired me finds out that I let you go they’ll just send another assassin to finish the job. Too many of your father’s enemies know who you are now. You aren’t safe here.”

Jared thought a moment. “Where would we go?”

“We?” Jensen was certain that he’d heard him wrong.

Jared glared at him. “I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

“Alright,” Jensen agreed, trying to process what that meant. He couldn’t let himself dwell on it for long. That didn’t matter now. The most important thing was to get Jared somewhere safe. “Alright, we’ll figure something out.”

“You said something about a decoy?” Jared asked.

“Yes,” Jensen confirmed without thinking. “My employer requires evidence of every kill.”

“What kind of evidence?”

Jensen paused, not sure how to say it without hurting him even more. “Are you sure you want to hear this?”

“No more secrets, Jensen,” Jared said firmly. “No more lies. Tell me.”

“Well,” he said hesitantly. “All of Robert’s bastards have the same Baratheon blue eyes.” He let the end of his sentence trail off, waiting until he saw the horrific realization dawn on Jared’s face. “There was a man traveling with me who would take them from the dead and send them back to his master. It was his job to ensure that I fulfilled my duties. He started harping on me about why I hadn’t killed you already so I got rid of him.”

Jared visibly struggled to pull himself together, finally shaking his head in an effort to clear his wits. Then he sprang up from the bed and started hurriedly to get dressed.

Jensen wasn’t sure what was happening but he was afraid that Jared had changed his mind and was going to leave him behind after all. “Where are you going?” he asked, not entirely sure that he had any right to at this point.

“To steal Gwendolyn,” Jared answered cryptically.

“Who is Gwendolyn?” Jensen had been almost certain that Jared’s former flame with the nasty attitude was called Jeyne.

“Hoster Bracken’s prize sow,” Jared informed him as he reached for his boots.

“A pig?” Now it was Jensen’s turn to assume that Jared had lost his mind. “With everything I just told you, you decide now is a good time to go steal a pig?”

“Yes,” Jared said, turning to face him. His expression was stony and resolute. “A pig with blue eyes.”


	18. Chapter 18

Jared waited anxiously outside the butcher’s shop while Jensen delivered the package. He’d stolen the pig while Jensen distracted Hoster Bracken’s swineherd with a small fire in the main barn. He’d slit Gwendolyn’s throat cleanly and bled her dry but Jensen had insisted on removing the eyes himself. Jared had handed him the knife without comment. He didn’t think he could do it anyway knowing that his own half-brothers and sisters had met a similar fate.

He’d never met any of him that he knew of, but rumor had it that the lecherous old King had sired over a dozen bastards in his day so it was really anyone’s guess. Jared wasn’t grieving for them exactly, more for the dream of a real family. Since his mother had died, his life had always been missing that comfort of family connection and now he’d never have it.

Jared hadn’t known the truth of his own parentage until a maiden knight, Brienne of Tarth, had happened upon the Brotherhood’s camp. She had nearly mistaken him for the ghost of his uncle and her dearly departed lord, Renly Baratheon, insisting that the resemblance was too great to be mere coincidence. He hadn’t believed her at first but eventually he realized that it made sense in light of how he’d once been hunted so doggedly by the Goldcloaks. The Lannisters wouldn’t waste such efforts on him if he wasn’t a threat to them in some way. His blood ties to the throne could certainly be seen as such if House Baratheon ever saw fit to legitimize his birthrights as their family’s heir. Truth be told, in such desperate times as these his bastard status might even be overlooked by the common people if someone powerful enough was willing to do whatever necessary to see the stag sigil flying above the Red Keep of King’s Landing once more. Jared still had trouble considering himself anything more than a lowborn bastard and a pauper knight.

Jensen emerged from the butcher’s shop, now without the small wooden box that he’d carried in containing their decoy. He gave a slight nod of his head towards Jared, indicating that so far they were successful. The butcher was one of his employer’s more clandestine contacts in the area and he would pass the package along as usual despite the noted absence of his usual messenger, Retch. His cooperation was helped along greatly by their gift to him of nearly 200lbs of high quality pork thanks again to the unwitting sacrifice of dear sweet Gwendolyn.

Jared and Jensen mounted their horses - gods only knew where Jensen acquired the hardy little bay he’d arrived on - and they rode off on the kingsroad heading north with Jared leading the way. They hadn’t discussed where they were going exactly. Jared had made the decision on his own while he was packing up his belongings from the inn and loading them onto his horse. Jensen seemed satisfied to follow him without question which was just about as much input as Jared wanted from him at the moment. When considering their present alternatives, the North was likely safer than anywhere else. Not that anywhere in the Seven Kingdoms could be considered safe for long in such a time where alliances were often proved to be as thin as the paper they were signed upon.

Kings Landing and the surrounding lands were once again besieged by war. In the five years that Jensen and Jared had been apart, the ruler of the Iron Throne was overthrown twice and it was poised to fall yet again. The first was when King Joffrey was poisoned at his wedding feast to Margaery Tyrell, supposedly by his uncle Tyrion. Many quietly believed the true blame lay elsewhere but nothing could be proven. The second happened when the Queen Regent, Cersei Lannister, was captured by the followers of the Faith of the Seven. She was publicly denounced for the sin of incest and her remaining children were likewise decried as abominations. Her son, the newly-crowned King Tommen, was spirited away to Highgarden by his once sister-in-law and now wife’s Tyrell family, ostensibly for his own protection. The power-hungry Tyrells, realizing that Tommen’s now illegitimized reign was too fragile to last, broke their tenuous alliance with the Lannisters after the sudden reappearance of Aegon Targaryen.

Aegon claimed to be the direct heir to the Targaryen line, King Rhaegar’s lost son who was once thought to have been killed in infancy when Robert Baratheon won the Iron Throne. Aegon was ushered in to reclaim his rightful place on the throne when Tommen Lannister was found poisoned, a concoction curiously similar to his brother Joffrey’s.

Aegon’s coup had been staged by a cunning collaboration between the Lannister’s former Master of Whispers, Varys, and their former Master of Coin, Petyr Baelish. The two deviously brilliant political minds were once thought to be bitter rivals but their alliance was revealed when the forces that Baelish had amassed during his new position as Lord Regent of the Eyrie flew to Aegon’s aide in conjunction with the full might of the Golden Company, an army of ten-thousand sellswords which were hired by Varys. Their united military forces, along with the support of House Tyrell and House Targaryen’s former allies by marriage, House Martell, quickly overpowered the severely depleted Lannister armies. Aegon had pledged to take Tommen’s former bride, Margaery, as his queen but instead Lord Baelish supplanted her with Sansa Stark, the niece of his murdered wife, Lysa. Baelish knew that Magaery was too strong to control from behind the scenes unlike Aegon was but Sansa was already well frightened of him as his unwilling paramour. The Tyrells were furious when they learned of the deception and their alliance to Aegon had been rocky ever since.

The biggest threat to Aegon’s reign however came from within his own family line. Daenerys Targaryen had arrived in the Stormlands with her band of wild Dothraki warriors and ferociously loyal armies of former slaves from the Free Cities. She was a charismatic leader who inspired devotion from the commonfolk when she answered the call to help Jon Snow, now Lord Commander of the Wall, fight off an invasion of undead White Walkers. With a trumpet of her horn she called her three monstrous dragons into the battle and rescued the lands of Westeros which she intended to one day rule. She claimed that she was the last true Targaryen dragonlord as the prophecies had promised, not her nephew Aegon who was nothing but a puppet king for stronger men. Many were persuaded to her side when they heard tales of her fearlessness in the face of danger and her compassion for her people while many others sought to back her in an attempt to gain prestige for themselves if she continued to succeed in her path of conquest towards King’s Landing. Her popularity seemed to trigger a downward mental spiral in Aegon, further undermining the confidence of his rule. His increasingly erratic behavior and violent mood swings were widely whispered to be a sign that he was inheriting the same insanity that had plagued his infamous grandfather, the Mad King. The entire kingdom was on the precipice of a Targaryen civil war and many were waiting to see what houses would take which side.

Jared felt guilty for abandoning the Brotherhood at such a time when he knew they needed every available man, but he believed that Jensen was right about more assassins behind sent after him if he was found to be alive and he didn’t want to be responsible for bringing that added danger into their camp. Instead he led Jensen north, the only part of the land which didn’t seem to be preparing to engage in the impending fight.

For seven long days they travelled the Kingsroad in complete silence. They rode all day, made a quick meal over their fire at night, and slept in shifts so there was always one of them keeping watching for anyone who might be following. Jared didn’t speak to Jensen unless it was absolutely necessary and then only in clipped commands. He was holding onto all of his rage and his misery over what Jensen had told him so tightly that it was like a physical weight sitting in the pit of his stomach.

Jensen never once complained. He kept entirely to himself unless Jared gave him a task to do which he’d complete as fast and efficiently as possible. He seemed more subdued than Jared had ever seen him, never meeting Jared’s eyes but always watching him like a beaten dog expecting to be kicked. On the eighth day, Jared finally couldn’t stand it any longer.

They had just finished eating their evening meal of roasted chicken which Jensen had filched from a nearby coop when they had stopped to water their horses earlier that day. He stood, about to take up his post as first watch for the night when Jared held up a hand to stop him.

“Wait,” Jared said. “Sit down.” It was well past time for the two of them to talk about certain things that Jensen needed to know.

Jensen startled for a second but dropped his eyes quickly, folding himself back down to his seat on the other side of the fire.

Jared paused for a few beats, not entirely sure where to start. “I don’t know what you may or may not have heard about what’s happened here since you’ve been gone. I assume that since you’ve been hunting down my father’s bastards all over Westeros that you’ve heard about King Aegon marrying your sister Sansa.”

Jensen stiffened and nodded his head yes.

“She’s safe for now as far as I know,” Jared told him. “As long as she continues to play the dutiful wife to Aegon, Lord Baelish will make sure she’s protected. She’s the only one Aegon will still listen to. That fact keeps her useful.” It was an empty hope but it was the best he had in him to offer.

Jensen nodded again, indicating that he understood but his eyes belied how much it hurt him to hear of his sister’s tenuous situation.

Jared continued on. “What you may not have heard is what has become of Winterfell. I doubt they care much for the goings-on of the Northern lords all the way down in the Free Cities.”

As soon as Jared mentioned Winterfell, Jensen’s posture snapped straight to full attention. “Stannis,” he said.

“Yes,” Jared confirmed. “He has taken it. But there’s more.”

Stannis Baratheon had won Winterfell from the forces of House Bolton and House Frey who had claimed it after Robb Stark was slain at the now infamous Red Wedding. He managed to win it from them with help from the northern lords still loyal to the Starks, including what remained of the Tully’s as well as the Brotherhood without Banners. Jared had fought alongside his sworn brothers at the siege and witnessed the flag of the direwolf sigil raised high about its tallest tower alongside the Baratheon’s stag banner.

“Stannis has allied with the northmen because his armies are too weak now to stand on their own. No one knows that better than him. That’s why in a show of good faith he has welcomed home to Winterfell not just one, but two Starks who were both at one time thought to be dead.”

“What? Who?” Jensen said, his eyes widening in shock.

“The first was your youngest brother, Rickon.”

“But…he and Bran were b-burned. Theon Greyjoy killed them.”

“No. It was all a trick. Greyjoy murdered two innocent farm boys in their stead,” Jared told him. “Bran and Rickon fled north with the help of two of your family servants but they had were forced to split up when they were nearly taken by wilding invaders. Rickon was taken by his servant Osha to the island of Skagos where he stayed safely hidden until Stannis sent men to rescue him and bring him home.”

“And Bran?” Jensen asked hopefully. “What of him?”

Jared shook his head. “Bran continued north with his bodyguard Hodor. No one has heard of him since.”

“Little Rickon.” Jensen rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth, his eyes thoughtful with a faraway look about them. “You said there were two?”

“Yes,” Jared said. He wasn’t sure what the next blow would do to Jensen in his fragile state but he needed to know. “The other was Lady Stoneheart. A woman who was once known as Catelyn Stark.”

Jensen went pale and his mouth fell open in shock. “T-that’s impossible. I saw it. I saw her die.”

Jared’s resolve slipped a bit when he saw how Jensen trembled. Part of him wanted to reach out and console but the part of him that was still unwilling to forgive him made him stop.

“Your mother’s body was pulled from the river after the Red Wedding and was given the kiss of life from Beric Dondarion,” Jared explained. “He raised her from the dead as Thoros of Myr has done so many times for him. From then on she has been helping Beric lead the Brotherhood towards enacting vengeance against the Stark enemies.” Jared had been there. He’d seen the Freys run in fear as soon as they saw her ride out onto the battlefield.

Jared had only spoken to her a few times as the gaping slash across her throat made speech difficult for her. However once he had introduced himself and told her that he was a friend of Jensen’s she had always shown him noticeably more warmth than the others. As much warmth as her pale torn-up face and dead grey eyes could muster anyway. Knowing everything she had suffered, he felt honorbound to return Jensen to her side for whatever time she might have left in this world.

Truthfully he had another motivation as well. He thought that seeing what remained of his family alive again and Winterfell restored might be enough to bring Jensen back from the darkness he’d been living under for so long. He felt he owed that to the memory of the boy he once loved. Whether or not that person still existed inside the broken shell that was Jensen – well, he wasn’t yet sure.

“My mother is alive?” Jensen asked, his eyes unfocused and his voice a thready whisper.

Jared hesitated a beat. “She’s much changed from the person that you knew. You have to understand that. But yes, she is alive. I’ll have you back with her in a few days time.”

Jensen’s breath was coming unnaturally fast. He stood up, as wobbly as a newborn calf.

Without even thinking about it, Jared’s hand shot out to steady him but Jensen listed out of his reach. “Jensen?”

Jensen held up a hand, waving him off. He stumbled a bit until he found his balance and then started walking away from the fire. “Thank you, Jay. Thank you.” He got a few yards until he reached the base of a nearby oak tree where he stopped, all but collapsing to his knees. He curled up there in tight ball facing out into the darkness. Jared could see his shoulders shaking where they were hunched up tight around his ears.

As much as he didn’t want it to affect him, Jared couldn’t help how awful he felt seeing Jensen like that. He couldn’t imagine what Jensen was feeling but seeing him like that made the stony defenses around his heart break a little. If it had been under different circumstances he wouldn’t have hesitated to go to him right then and gather him up in his arms.

His friend had nearly thrown away his life because he didn’t think he had anything or anyone to live for. He’d done unimaginable things because he thought that it would bring him some kind of false salvation. Now Jensen knew how wrong he’d been about all of it. All this time, the life he’d been mourning had been right here waiting for him. Jared included.

He didn’t know if there was a way back for Jensen but if he was going to have a chance at rebuilding himself the best place for him to do that was at Winterfell surrounded by people who could remind him of who he was. But after everything that had happened, Jared just wasn’t sure whether or not he could bring himself to be a part of that. How could he ever hope to trust Jensen again?

Despite everything, Jared found himself wanting to.

~~~

Jensen wasn’t able to sleep at all that night even after Jared took over his shift at watch. For a while after he’d heard the news he had been in a kind of shock, so severe that initially he thought he was going mad. He just couldn’t believe that it was true. So many times he’d dreamed of seeing his family again but he thought the only way that would ever happen was when they were reunited in the afterlife. Now he was going to see his little brother and his mother again for the first time in years. Even though he desperately wanted to see them he didn’t know how he was ever going to explain his actions. How would they ever be able to look at him the same way after they found out about the things that he’d done?

Since he didn’t sleep he made sure that their camp was cleared up and the horses were watered before long Jared even woke up. There wasn’t much left in their saddlebags in the way of suitable breakfast so they’d have to make due with a few slightly bruised apples that he’d collected along the way. He picked out the biggest and the least damaged ones and set them aside for Jared. Jensen didn’t know why he had decided to take him home to Winterfell or really why he was bothering with him at all but he wasn’t going to give him any reason to regret it. No matter how small.

When they finally set out on the road again that day, Jensen noticed a few subtle changes in Jared’s mood. He had been hoping that their talk the night before might have been a sign of some kind of bridge starting to reform between them. Anything was better than the silence of the days before. It might have been wishful thinking on his part or perhaps he was just reading meaning into the other man’s actions that really wasn’t there. Jared didn’t ride so far ahead of him as he had been doing, sometimes even letting his horse drop back to walk alongside of Jensen’s. A few times, he caught Jared looking at him out of the corner of his eye. Then when they stopped at a roadside tavern to restock their food supplies, Jared suggested that they go inside and have a pint while their horses rested a bit.

It was against Jensen’s better judgment. He knew that they should really keep going in case anyone was following them or in case the wrong sort of person recognized them. Their decoy would have reached its destination by now but there was no telling if it had fooled anyone or not. There could be men hunting them down right at that moment. But on the other hand, the chance to sit at a table with Jared like they were friends and equals was too much for him to pass up. No matter what the risk.

They ate thick brown stew out of wooden bowls with crusty sourbread. With it, they drank a pint of dark ale a piece. Just enough to wet their whistles without dulling their senses. There was also a man playing a tabor drum and singing for whatever coins that the other travelers tossed his way. It all made for a rather pleasant mood which seemed to loosen Jared’s tongue. He talked at length about the oncoming war from the perspective of man who’d now seen the horror of it from the inside. He predicted which armies would side with King Aegon and which were likely to be swayed to Daenerys’ cause, as well as which ones would send troops and which were more likely to issue empty promises.

Jensen listened attentively, happy to let Jared carry the conversation. Even though he remained quiet except for the occasional murmur of agreement his mind was active, automatically filing away information as his former training had conditioned him to. Not just the things that Jared said but also what his opinions and the motivations and morals behind them said about the man he’d become. Life, with all it’s disappointments and it’s hardships, hadn’t seemed to change him much. He believed in loyalty, chivalry, honesty, and hard work over taking the easy path. For Jared, that was nothing new. However he was more cautious now, more guarded than he’d once been. Most of that Jensen reckoned was on account of him. But he seemed more at ease with himself as well, more confident, and more content in his own skin. He was the kind of man that drew people to him naturally because they knew he could be relied on and because he thought about the greater good without consideration for his own ego. Jensen had seen enough of the world to know that such a combination of qualities was a rare and powerful thing. Even more powerful when it appeared in a leader of men. He imagined that if Jared had not been born a bastard he might have been a king for the ages.

They spent a comfortable hour together and Jensen was sad to see it come to an end even though he knew that they really should be on their way. When they finished their meal they left the tavern with their saddlebags heavy with food and supplies. Jared was in such a fine mood that he actually smiled. A _real_ smile. Not at Jensen of course, he knew that. It seemed directed more at the countryside in general as it seemed to be shaping up to be a near perfect day for a ride. Not too hot, not too cold, and not a drop of rain in sight. Still, Jensen couldn’t help but feel his own spirits bolstered by it.

They got about twenty miles down the road before everything went to hell. It wasn’t a proper assassin. No Faceless Man that Jensen had ever met or heard tell of would have made so much noise upon their approach. If it had been one of them, Jared would have fallen dead from his saddle with no warning whatsoever other than a poison arrow in his back. Also they rarely worked in groups. No, the men on horseback who appeared galloping out of the treeline at them full speed had to either be common sellswords or thieves. Either way, Jared and Jensen were outnumbered.

Without a second thought for his own safety, Jensen drew his blade.

“Jensen, no!” Jared shouted. “Wait!”

But Jensen could barely hear him beyond the rush of his own heartbeat in his ears. He wouldn’t have stopped anyway. He spurred his horse on, aiming right for their attackers in a battle charge. One thought dominated his brain. _Protect Jared_.

As soon as the first impact of steel upon flesh was made everything became a blur of noise, chaotic motion, and blood. He heard Jared shout from somewhere nearby and when he turned to look for him he saw him swing his war hammer through a man’s skull like he was driving home a nail. Then Jensen felt a blinding pain in his shoulder and suddenly the world tilted sideways.

“Jensen!”

He blacked out just as the ground was rushing up to meet him.


	19. Chapter 19

_In his dreams he was running through the forest again. He’d dreamt it now so many times over the years that the wolf’s body was almost as familiar to him as it’s his own. He could feel the fallen leaves crunching under the pads of his paws and hear the flutter of nervous sparrows taking wing in the canopy above him with crystalline clarity. The forest smelled the same as it always did. Tree bark, moss, damp earth, and decay. But something about it was definitely different. Jensen couldn’t tell what it was yet. Just a feeling in the air that told him that there was change on the horizon._

_He ran until he came to the edge of the trees but instead of a field of wildflowers he found a sea of grass. Tall yellow grass that shimmered in the sun and rippled with every breeze. In the middle of the field was a weirwood tree and under that tree was a big black bull, just like always. But the bull was not laying in it’s shade like he usually was. This time he was snorting, stamping, and pawing the ground like he was spoiling for a fight._

_Jensen approached cautiously, not sure whether or not the bull would attack him. Soon he realized that it wasn’t paying attention to him at all. All it’s rage was focused on the tree. Each time before, Jensen had watched helplessly as the tree had transformed into twisted iron and chain before slaughtering the docile bull. This time the bull seemed to be anticipating the attack. Sure enough, when the bone-white bark fell away and the branches became sharp steel longswords, the creature let out a ferocious bellow. Flames shot from it’s throat and it snorted smoke from it’s nostrils in angry bursts. Suddenly it charged. The sound of the impact was almost deafening – the sharp ring of steel being struck with a hammer blow. The tree shook and groaned but it’s branches still twisted in the wind and reached out to grab for the bull. The great beast ducked away just in time. Then two huge iron chains burst up through the ground and snaked their way towards him._

_Jensen ran up to help. He pounced on the chains and tried to snatch them with his teeth to keep them from ensnaring the bull. It wasn’t much, but his efforts provided enough of an opening to allow the other animal a chance to rush in for another charge._

_This time when it attacked, the bull roared out a belt of fire. The flames burned green dragonfire. The great tree began to buckle and sway. In seconds, the fire ate its way up the trunk. Iron melted like candle wax. Then with one final ramming hit to its base, the bull toppled the evil twisted tree to the ground. The fire enveloped it, melting it down until it was a harmless puddle of molten metal._

_Jensen turned back to look at the bull but it was gone. In its place was a sleek black stag, standing tall and regal amidst the golden yellow grass. It bowed its great antlered head to him in a sign of homage._

_~~~_

Consciousness came to Jensen in jagged slices of time that never lasted long enough for him to get his bearings. He remembered being hoisted onto the back of a horse. The face of an old man hovering above him followed by an incredible stabbing pain in his shoulder. The groan of wagon wheels and a high stone archway passing over his head. Then finally, a cold hand on his forehead, dabbing it with a wet cloth.

When he was finally able to fight his way through the cloying darkness and come back to the world he realized he was lying in a bed. A real featherbed. It was too soft and too high quality to belong to a common inn. Jensen blinked his eyes into focus and saw that the ceiling and the walls of the room he was were made of gray granite stone. That confirmed it for him. Jared hadn’t brought him to an inn. Jared had brought him to Winterfell.

“Jensen?” someone said.

Jensen heard the voice but he didn’t recognize it at first. He tried to sit up to see who had spoken but a throb of pain in his shoulder knocked the wind out of him. A thick white bandage was wrapped tightly around it. Before he collapsed back to the bed he caught a glimpse of a young boy’s face peeking out from behind the door, his eyes wide with alarm. He was taller now and his hair was longer than Jensen remembered it being but there was no mistaking it’s Tully auburn hue. It was his little brother, Rickon.

“He’s awake!” Rickon yelled, disappearing behind the door. Jensen could hear the sound of his little boots hitting the stone floor as he ran down the hall. “Jensen’s awake!”

Jensen tried to sit up again, this time managing to prop himself up on his pillow, before the heavy thud of bootfalls was heard again in the hall and the door was thrown wide open. Standing on the other side of it was Jared.

He looked tired and thin like he hadn’t been eating or sleeping properly. He clearly hadn’t shaved in days and there was a fresh scar over his left eyebrow, but right then he was the most beautiful sight that Jensen’s eyes had ever seen.

“Jay,” Jensen breathed, his voice thin and broken from disuse.

For a moment, Jared just stood there staring at him as if he’d seen a ghost. Then Rickon pushed past him through the doorway and ran to Jensen’s bedside. That seemed to jar Jared out of his stupor enough for him to collect himself.

“Jensen!” Rickon exclaimed. “We’ve been waiting for you to wake up for days and days! Everyone’s been worried about you. Mother even made you her special protection charms,” he said, pointing to the half-dozen circular webs of twigs and string on the wall above his bed. “Sir Jared was worried too. He’s been standing guard at your door since you got here.”

Jensen was so overwhelmed he wasn’t entirely sure that he was actually awake. It had to be a dream. His real life was never this wonderful. He grabbed Rickon’s hand just to make sure he was real. “Rickon,” Jensen said, “You’re alive. You’re really alive.”

“Of course I am. You’re the one who almost died, Jensen.”

There was a quiet noise, a garbed gasp, which caught Jensen’s attention. He looked up and there at the door next to Jared was his mother. Even though he’d seen his fair share of corpses, nothing could have prepared him for the sight of her. It was like someone was controlling her dead mutilated body with invisible puppet strings. At first he was afraid, so much so that when she drew nearer to him he shrank away from her. Then he noticed her eyes. They were cloudy and flat-looking where they’d once been so warm and alive, but somehow there was still intelligence behind them and a wealth of emotion. They looked back at him with a mother’s love.

She knelt by the side of his bed and pressed a thin bony hand against the grey silk scarf which only partially disguised the gash across her throat. “M-m-my son. Home.”

Her voice was a gravelly rasp with a wheeze of air coming from the hole in her throat and her words were few but Jensen understood well enough what she was trying to convey. He felt the same way.

“Yes,” he said, his own throat suddenly choked with tears. “I’m home.” There was so much he wanted to say that he didn’t know where to begin. He wanted to tell her how sorry he was that he wasn’t able to do more to save her and that the memory of that day at the Twins had been haunting him ever since. He wanted to confess every foul deed he’d committed in the name of the Faceless Men. He wanted to explain what he’d almost done to Jared and to himself in the search for some kind of salvation from it all. The only thing that stopped him was the fact that Rickon was right there listening. There were some things that he was just too young to hear. Instead, he just said, “I’ve missed you so much.”

Catelyn brushed a hand over his hair, affectionately. Her touch was cold but comforting in its own way.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jensen saw Jared start to silently withdraw from the room. “Jared, wait,” he said. “Don’t leave. Please.”

Jared stopped, looking torn. He glanced quickly from Catelyn to Rickon. “You’ve been asleep for days, Jensen. You should be with your family right now.”

Catelyn patted Jensen’s cheek, then stood up and gestured for Rickon to follow her.

“But Mother,” Rickon whined. “Jensen, just woke up. I can’t go to bed now.”

Catelyn repeated the gesture, this time more adamantly.

Rickon rolled his eyes. “Alright,” he pouted. “Goodnight, Jensen. I’ll come back to see you tomorrow.”

If Jensen was certain he could manage it without hurting his shoulder he would have hugged him. “Goodnight. Goodnight, Mother”

“Rest,” his mother told him as she ushered Rickon out of the room. It wasn’t a request.

Before they left, she stopped for a moment to lay a hand on Jared’s shoulder. “Family,” she said, looking him in the eye. The expression on her mangled face might have once been considered a smile.

“Thank you, m’lady,” Jared replied with a nod. When they were alone at last, Jared quietly pulled the door closed behind him and took a seat on edge of Jensen’s bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Like someone drove a sword through my shoulder,” Jensen said. “That’s what happened wasn’t it? I don’t remember much.”

“I’m not surprised,” Jared commented. “You killed the first three before I could even catch up but the blow from the fourth man knocked you off your horse. You hit your head so hard when you fell.” Anger flared in his eyes. “I beat the bastard’s head in until there was nothing left of it. The fifth rider must have run off scared.” He shook his head bitterly. “What the seven hells were you thinking? Were you trying to get yourself killed again?”

“No!” Jensen used what energy that he had to prop himself up on his pillow so that he could look Jared in the eye. “I promise you that wasn’t what I meant to do. I’m done courting Death.”

“Then why? Why didn’t you at least wait for me to help? I’m no Braavosi assassin but I do know my way around a sword.”

“I was trying to protect you. I didn’t want you to get hurt,” Jensen explained. “I thought I owed you that much at least.”

Jared took his hand and laced their fingers together. “Jensen, that sword missed your heart by mere inches. I couldn’t wake you up. Then your wound began to fester and you were burning with fever. I thought you would die.”

Jensen watched Jared’s face as he stared down at their hands. He knew that if their roles had been reversed he would have been going out of his mind with worry. It amazed him to see that evidently Jared still cared enough about him to feel the same.

“Thank the gods that I was able to get you to Winterfell in time for the maester to cure you,” Jared continued. “Even so, he had to reopen your wound to let the sickness drain out. He said if it had gone that way for much longer he might have had to take the arm as well.” His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “I almost lost you. Again. So when you say that you don’t want me to get hurt, you have to know that foolishly risking your life like that – that hurts me too.”

Jensen didn’t know what to say. He didn’t think of his own life as being worth much, but knowing that it still meant something to Jared made him start to see things differently. “I’m sorry,” he said at last, knowing that it was nowhere near enough.

Jared brought the back of Jensen’s hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to it. “It’s alright. Just don’t do it again. Please.”

To anyone else, the gesture itself might have been considered a small one but to Jensen it was everything. Understanding. Love. Forgiveness. It made his heart swell so in his chest that he almost couldn’t breathe around it.

“Jay.” Jensen rose up in bed, moving towards him before he even knew he was doing it. His fingers reached out towards Jared’s face, itching to touch. To know for sure that what Jared was offering him behind those few words was real. He barely made it a few inches before Jared put his hands up to hold him back.

“Jensen, stop. You’re going to hurt yourself.” Gently, Jared pressed him back down to the bed. He leaned over him and brushed his fingers lightly through Jensen’s hair. “Your mother told you to rest.” His eyes seemed to dance over Jensen’s face for a moment, finally landing on his lips before he covered them with his own. The kiss was a chaste one but warm and soft, lingering long enough that Jensen could almost feel the heat of it sink right into his bones. “We’re safe now,” Jared whispered, a quiet hope secreted between the span of their mingled breath. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

A small voice in Jensen’s head rose up ready to dispute that fact but he squashed it, unwilling to mar such a perfect moment with more worry. Instead, he traced a fingertip over the sharp curve of Jared’s cheekbone and chose to let him keep that hope alive for both of them. “Stay with me a while?” he asked. “Please. Just until I fall asleep.”

The corners of Jared’s mouth winged up in a slight smile. He gave Jensen another short kiss. “As m’lord commands.”


	20. Chapter 20

Day after day, Jensen got a little stronger under the care of Winterfell’s maester and his healing arts. He’d been wounded before, even severely so several times while in the service of the Faceless Men but never had he been so coddled and pampered since he was a baby. The servants treated him like he was a king, and he feared that some of them expected him to take up Robb’s banner and become just that. His mother hovered around him almost constantly, silently fretting and frowning with disapproval if he left even a crumb of food on his dinner plate uneaten. Jared was the worst of all. He acted as if Jensen were made of glass. If he had his way, he would have locked Jensen up in Winterfell’s highest tower for safe keeping and never let him out again.

Jensen might have actually been okay with that if Jared would finally consent to do more than just hold his hand or share the briefest of kisses. It was absolutely maddening. Now that all eyes were on him as Winterfell’s eldest male heir, Jensen had precious little time alone with Jared. When he did, it felt like Jared was courting him like he was some shy little maid concerned about her virtue. He was a man! A young man with a young man’s needs and wants. At first he thought that they were just taking it slow for the sake of his health but as the days and weeks went by and his energy began to return he suspected that Jared was holding back for other reasons as well.

Jensen was sitting by his bedroom window thinking over what those reasons might be while he watched Jared in the yard below giving Rickon an archery lesson. His little brother wasn’t quite big enough yet to handle a sword but with a bow he could still be taught how to defend himself. Jared wasn’t the best archer but he seemed to understand the mechanics well enough to show Rickon how it was done. Patiently he corrected Rickon’s grip and his stance and encouraged him with great pride when he managed to actually strike the strawman target, albeit in the shin. It warmed Jensen’s heart to see how well Jared seemed to fit in at Winterfell and how completely his family had accepted him as a part of their lives.

There was a quiet shuffle of slippered feet as Catelyn let herself into the room and stood beside his chair. Even though she couldn’t communicate as well as she once could she made her feelings known through gestures, small touches, and what expression she could draw from her battered face. For the most part he could figure out what she was trying to say but Rickon was still much better at understanding her than he was.

Catelyn rubbed his shoulder in an affectionate greeting and then followed his gaze down to the yard where Jared and Rickon were still practicing. She looked back to Jensen with a fond smile, showing her approval.

“Rickon’s getting the hang of it, I think,” Jensen commented conversationally. “If we’re ever invaded by a legion of scarecrows we’ll have nothing to fear.”

Catelyn frowned at his sarcasm. She took a seat on the windowsill facing Jensen with concern in her eyes. Jensen sighed. He could practically hear her voice in his head. _What’s wrong, dear?_

“It’s nothing,” Jensen told her. “Nothing for you to worry about.”

Catelyn placed a hand over her throat, applying the pressure there that she needed in order to speak. “Jaaared,” she rasped.

Jensen flushed. “Yes. Jared.”

He had never actually said the words to his mother but she seemed to be able to see right through him anyway. The true nature of his relationship with Jared was an open secret between the two of them that they’d never really addressed. When they’d first danced around the subject in their last conversation at Riverrun she had subtly suggested that he put Jared aside in favor of his responsibilities to his brother Robb’s cause and to the future of House Stark. Even though he could see that she liked Jared from the way they interacted, he fully expected her to tell him much the same now.

That’s why he was completely caught off guard by what his mother did next. She reached out and grabbed his hand, turning it palm side up. With her forefinger she traced series of letters in the middle of it, J-A-R-E-D, and then raised it up to press it against his own heart. She held his hand there on his chest, patting it protectively, and looked into his eyes with a silent plea. _Jared is in your heart. Don’t let him slip away._

Jensen was so overcome that for a long moment all he could do was try to remember to breathe. Her acceptance and her support were the two most precious gifts she could have ever given him. Then he thought of Jared - how far they’d come, the years they’d lost, and the uncertainty of their future. Receiving his forgiveness had been a blessing. Earning his trust back would might take a miracle.

Gently he pushed his mother’s hands away, regretting the fact that he didn’t have an easier explanation for her. “I broke his trust,” he told her. “I’ve done things. Bad things. I hurt him, mother,” Jensen continued, sadness and despair making his voice start to crack. “I almost…I-I’m not a good man.”

Back when Jensen had still been mostly unconscious, Jared had told her that he’d been in Braavos all these years. Later, Jensen himself had clarified for her that he’d been a Faceless Man. However, he hadn’t elaborated with anything more specific than that. He’d seen her reaction at the news and knew that their reputation alone had told her more than he could every bring himself to admit out loud. The look of shock and horror she’d given him in that initial unguarded moment still haunted him even though she’d immediately tried to cover it up to spare his feelings. It had been painful for him but strangely helpful, for it reminded him of just how much he had yet to atone for.

Catelyn responded to him now by leaning forward and cupping his face in one icy cold hand while the other flew to her throat. “Rebuil-l-ld,” she implored him in her whispery rattle.

“I don’t know how,” Jensen confessed. “But I will try.”

~~~

That evening, Jared dined with the Stark family as had become his custom. They treated him like one of their own which in the beginning had very felt strange to him. Growing up in the shadow of King’s Landing, his only reference for how noble families conducted themselves was with the high society lords and ladies of the royal court. None of them would be caught dead with a poor hedge knight at their dinner table. The Starks were nothing like that. They lived humbly without the excesses of the rich southern lords, preferring practical cotton, wool, and warm furs to costly silks and satin. They didn’t have many servants because they didn’t feel the need to be waited on hand and foot, and they lived in close proximity with their people rather than thinking themselves above the problems of the commonfolk. Seeing how they lived and the kinds of values that they held themselves up to, it made even more sense now to Jared why Jensen had always treated him like an equal.

Rickon spent the meal excitedly relating to Jensen and his mother how he’d managed to strike the target three times in their archery lesson earlier that day. Jared smiled to himself, proud of his young student. There wasn’t much that he could offer in thanks for the Stark’s hospitality and their generosity towards him but helping Rickon was at least one thing he could do in return. What’s more, he enjoyed the boy’s company. Rickon had all sorts of stories to tell him about Jensen and what he was like before they’d met. Jared was endlessly entertained by the idea of a tiny towheaded little Jensen climbing the castle walls and running from rooftop to rooftop like a stray cat while the captain of their father’s guard chased after him in a panic.

Gradually, he noticed that Jensen was being particularly quiet that evening. Not so much as to raise alarm, but enough that Jared could tell that his mind was preoccupied with something. He planned to ask Jensen about it but before he got the opportunity to a servant interrupted their dinner with news. A raven had arrived for Jensen with a message from Stannis Baratheon were he was encamped near Deepwood Motte with his forces.

Jensen took the note and read through it quickly. “Stannis requests a meeting with me,” he said with a frown of concern. “He says ‘ _To discuss the continued alliance of our great houses_ ’. I can only assume he wants reassurances that I won’t threaten his authority.” He looked to Lady Stark who was eying her son nervously. “Don’t worry, mother. I will do as he asks. I have no desire to be a king. Kings have a nasty habit of dying young in this world.” His green eyes darted to Jared and then back again so lightening fast that Jared almost thought he imagined it. “I have too much to live for.”

Lady Stark placed hand over his on the table and squeezed it, showing her approval and her relief at his words. Jared was relieved as well and quietly elated to hear further confirmation that Jensen was well and truly done with his God of Death.

“Can I go too, Jensen?” Rickon asked, clearly oblivious to what was going on with the adults around him. “I can bring my bow!”

“Sorry little brother,” Jensen said with fond amusement. “I need you to stay here and be the man of the house for me while I’m gone. Think you can do that?”

“Of course I can,” Rickon said, puffing out his skinny chest. “But who’s going to help protect you from robbers and murderers and pirates and stuff?”

His childish question struck home for Jared. They never had learned the identity of the horsemen that had attacked him and Jensen and the fifth man had never been found. He knew that as soon as Jensen left the relative safety of Winterfell he would be vulnerable.

“I will,” Jared announced, sending Rickon a reassuring smile. “I’ve never met a pirate but I can’t imagine he’d be a very smart one to be wandering this far away from the sea. Definitely no match for me.”

Rickon seemed satisfied with that but when Jared looked up and saw Jensen’s face he knew that the matter was far from settled.

“I’ll have a raven sent immediately to let him know I’m coming,” Jensen said, getting up from the table. He glanced Jared’s way and muttered, “We leave at first light.”

~~~

That night, Jared went to Jensen’s chambers intent on talking to him about their trip. There was no way he was going to let Jensen go without him no matter what he thought about it. Although he wasn’t at all going to like Jared’s motive. It was a potentially dangerous risk but hopefully one that would make them all safer in the long run.

Jared found him sitting crosslegged by the hearth in his room on a large wolfskin rug. He didn’t look up when Jared entered and closed the door behind him.

“I know what you’re going to say but I don’t think you should go without me,” Jared began. “You’re still recuperating and you need someone who’s going to be there to watch out for you.”

Jensen continued right on staring into the flames as he spoke. “I’m the Lord of Winterfell now, Jared. Or haven’t you heard? I’ll have a retinue of guards to escort me. Besides that, it’s much too dangerous for you to leave right now.”

“I am aware.” Jared took a steadying breath. He’d anticipated him saying just that. “We can’t live like this, Jensen. Neither one of us is going to be truly safe until we learn who’s trying to kill me. I’ve been thinking of a way to do that and I think this journey is the perfect opportunity. If I go it might draw them out.”

Jensen finally turned his head and met Jared’s eyes with alarm. “What?”

Jared took a seat next to him on the rug. “The longer I stay here with this threat hanging over my head the bigger the chances are that more people could get hurt. I’d never forgive myself if someone came here looking for me and your mother or Rickon got caught in the crossfire. I have to at least try.”

“What about you?” Jensen said worriedly. “Remember what you said about me taking unnecessary risks?”

Jared sighed. “I believe this is a necessary one. If they come for me then we’ll deal with it. Hopefully find some answers. But I’m not going to hide. I’m not going to live like that. If you think about it you know that you’d do the same in my position.”

Jensen fell quiet for a moment, chewing his bottom lip anxiously. “If this works,…if we both come out of it alright,…will you be coming back with me?”

Jared was confused. “What do you mean? Where else would I go?”

“Stannis is your uncle. If you pledged your sword to him he wouldn’t refuse you.” Jensen reasoned.

Jared tried very hard not to be insulted by what he was suggesting. “Do you think that’s really what I want? Is that what you want?”

“No,” Jensen said quickly. “I want you to stay here with me. I want you to stay here with me always but it’s no good if you don’t want that too. If you don’t feel the same way about me as you once did then please just tell me. I don’t want to lose you, even if it means that I can only have you as a friend.”

Jared was baffled by what he’d said. “I don’t understand. Where is this coming from?”

Jensen dropped his eyes to the floor. “You won’t touch me. Not like before.”

Then Jared understood and he felt awful for not giving voice to his concerns earlier. He’d seen firsthand how happy and how rejuvenated Jensen seemed around his family. Remembering how he’d once made the mistake of asking Jensen choose between a future with him or returning home to them all those years ago back in the Brotherhood’s camp, he was afraid that Jensen’s role as the new head of his household was going to end up coming between them yet again.

“Jensen, listen to me. I know that I’ve been holding back from you but believe me it’s not because I don’t want you. I just don’t know what my place here is.”

“Your place?” Jensen repeated in question.

“Like you said, you’re the Lord of Winterfell. I’m just a knight of no standing whatsoever. You’re going to have responsibilities now that might make things hard for us. You have alliances to protect and your family to think of. You’re finally starting to come back to the life you should have always had. I don’t want to get my hopes up if it turns out that I can’t be a part of that.”

Jensen’s green eyes grew hard. “You’re right. I’m in charge now. But you’re dead wrong if you think I’m going to let anyone tell me what I can and cannot do. I’m done being someone else’s gamepiece. I’m taking control of my own destiny from now on which as far as I’m concerned means nothing is ever going to come between us. Not as long as I draw breath. I don’t care what it takes. I’ll find a way.” He grabbed Jared’s hand. “Do you believe me?”

Jared heard the fierce determination in his voice and he knew that Jensen meant what he said wholeheartedly. He was still worried but he knew that if there was anyone who could manage to bend Fate to his will it was probably going to be Jensen. “I believe you,” he said.

Jensen surprised him then by shoving him down to the rug. He covered Jared’s body with his own and kissed away any thought of protest that Jared might have had about being careful for the sake of Jensen’s wounded shoulder. He’d been resisting temptation and his own desires whenever he was alone with Jensen for weeks. Now that he knew that both he and Jensen were really committed to making this thing between them work he felt like the finally barrier had been lifted and he was more than ready to make up for lost time.

Between hungry kisses they tore at each other’s clothes, hands grasping and kneading into heated flesh. Underneath them the plush wolfskin fun felt warm and soft as silk. The only noise was the crackle of the fire, the wet sound of their mouths, and the slide of skin against skin as they stripped each other naked, pressing their bodies together tightly so that Jared almost couldn’t tell where he ended and Jensen began. All the blood in his head seemed to have rushed south and he was left a mindless panting mess as Jensen lined up their hips and began thrusting against him. His cock was trapped between the friction of their bellies, leaking clear beads of precome as the sensation began to build itself into a frenzy of pleasure inside of him. He could feel Jensen’s erection, hard and hot with arousal rubbing along the seam of his thigh and for the first time he found himself not just idly fantasizing but actually craving the feel of it inside him as well. It would have to wait through because neither one of them were going to be able to last long enough for that. Jared's body was already starting to take over driven by pure need. His legs came up to frame Jensen’s hips almost on their own. The shift in position made him feel unusually vulnerable but the way it exposed his balls and allowed them to rub against the warm velvety softness of Jensen’s sac made him unable to contain his moan.

Jensen spit into his palm and took hold of both of their cocks and stroked them together. The tight dampened heat of his fist gripped him perfectly, the rub tug push pull of the pressure and friction spreading pleasure like a fever under Jared’s skin until his toes were curling and his thighs were trembling.

“Gods, Jay,” Jensen groaned. “I’ll never get enough of this.” His face and neck were flushed pink and his nipples were pebbled in tight little buds. Beads of sweat gathered at his temples and from the way his cock throbbed and grew impossibly harder against his Jared knew that he was close.

With his own orgasm coiling low at the base of his spine, Jared clutched the firm rounds of Jensen’s ass in his hands and used his grip as leverage as he started thrusting in counterpoint to the rhythm of Jensen’s hand.

Jensen let his mouth fall open on a silent moan as he came, his muscles going rigid and his body jerking with each pearly white pulse. The warm sticky slick coated his hand and Jared’s cock and he increased his pace, fucking Jensen’s fist as he raced towards his own release. Then he came and it was such a sweet flood of ecstasy that he felt like he was soaring high above his own body.

Gradually he came back to the hammering of his own heartbeat and to Jensen, the sweaty mess of limbs that lay on top of him. Jensen had his face pressed into the side of Jared’s neck, his breath coming in hot little puffs of air against his collarbone.

In the afterglow of the moment his heart swelled with an intense protective instinct. Despite his misgivings and despite his worry he knew that Jensen was right. With the two of them as a united front there was nothing that could ever separate them again.

“I love you,” Jared whispered, punctuating it with a kiss to the salty skin Jensen’s forehead. In that moment he felt it so strongly and he knew that Jensen needed to hear it.

Jared couldn’t see his face but he felt it when Jensen’s breath hitched and his throat bobbed before he answered.

“I love you too.”


	21. Chapter 21

The three hundred mile journey to Deepwood Motte took them a little over a week from beginning to end, their progress made slower by the addition of ten Winterfell guardsmen who were outfitted to the teeth in heavy armor. Jensen chose lighter armor and chainmail for himself that wouldn’t restrict his movement quite so much. He preferred to have speed on his side even if that meant forgoing that extra layer of metal. Besides, he had Jared and his war hammer shadowing his every move so he wasn’t lacking at all for protection.

They passed through deep pine forests and over quiet glens. Past shanty settlements with thatched roofs and past burned out ruins that had been plundered by one army or another on its way to a bigger dot on the map. In fields of hardy oat and barley stood weather-beaten old men and green young boys who watched their progress with a quiet wariness. The banners of their liege lords had changed many times over the years but their lives benefitted none for it. At best the relentless tide of war made little difference to them, of less importance than had it been a shift of the weather. At worst it meant another son or nephew called up to shed his blood for the ambitions of some nobleman they’d never seen.

It was something of a re-education for Jensen. All this time he’d been carrying with him a vision of the North as it had been during his father’s leadership. That time of security, chivalry, and great northern pride was clearly long over. Jensen saw what the endless fighting had sapped from his people and knew that the responsibility fell to him now to set it right.

He knew that Stannis was calling this meeting in order to secure his fealty but he anticipated that the self-appointed Baratheon king would also be asking for additional troops to be sent to join his army. Jensen spent long nights by the campfire discussing that distinct possibility with Jared and how he would respond. Stannis seemed intent on pursuing his claim to the Iron Throne no matter what the cost. Even though Jensen was beholden to the man for restoring Winterfell and bringing the scattered pieces of his family back together, he wasn’t sure that he could submit his people to the perils of war any longer. Jared saw his dilemma and helpfully pointed out to him that the only strongholds left in the Seven Kingdoms that hadn’t suffered as a result of the fighting had been those who had stayed well out of it. A compromise seemed to be in order if they could just manage to get the notoriously hardnosed lord to agree to it. Stannis might not like it but as far as Jensen was concerned it was high time that the North started to care for its own and steered clear of the deadly southern power struggles.

As they rode closer and closer to their destination without incident, a sinking feeling of dread started to permeate Jensen’s brain. He had expected to run into some kind of trouble by now from the escaped attacker. Any common sellsword would have been lying in wait for them to leave Winterfell and should have accosted them as soon as they left the protection of its walls. The fact that he hadn’t left open a few possible options. Either the man had given up the chase entirely – which wasn’t likely considering that it also meant he wouldn’t be getting paid – or he was waiting for them to come to him. That thought put both he and Jared on their guard. Their prospective host could very well be harboring a hired killer unawares at Deepwood Motte. The possibility that they could be walking right into an ambush of Stannis’s own design was a thought too terrible to speak out loud.

~~~

When they reached Deepwood Motte they were met with drizzling rain and thick grey clouds that hung above the ancient castle in a heavy canopy. Water pooled in their horses’ hoofprints as soon as they were made. Jensen was soaked. Jared and the rest of the men weren’t much better. They were all ready to get inside under a sturdy roof, danger be damned.

The castle’s central keep was really just a glorified stone longhall and watchtower that sat together upon a flattop hill. Surrounding the hill was a collection of wooden buildings protected by a high outer wall made from roughly hewn tree trunks and an earthen dike studded with sharpened logs. Being that it was made mostly of wood, it was by no means the most secure fortification in the North but the legion of Baratheon soldiers currently encamped around it in every direction certainly made it the most heavily-guarded. Even so, at the first sight of the direwolf banner of House Stark the soldiers parted immediately to let Jensen and his men pass. Many even bowed their heads to him in deference. House Baratheon and House Stark had been allies since his father had been a child, a fact that was well known and well respected by loyal followers on both sides even despite his brother Robb’s attempt to assert himself as King of the North.

As soon as they were through the main gate, a man approached them. He was dressed plainly in leather and boiled wool though there was a manner about him which commanded respect. His short grey beard was shot through with white but he had the build of a man who still knew how to hold his own in a fight.

“Welcome m’lord,” the man said, addressing Jensen. “I’m Davos Seaworth, Hand to King Stannis. I’m sorry we couldn’t offer you finer weather for your visit. Come this way. I’ll see you dried off and warmed up some before you meet with him.”

Davos led them to the castle stables where they left their horses and then over to a small shelter outside the main longhall where Jensen, Jared, and the rest of their men could warm themselves by the flames of cast-iron braziers.

“Thank you for your hospitality, Ser Davos,” Jensen said, rubbing his hands together vigorously to fend off the cold. “It is _Ser_ Davos isn’t it?”

“Ah, yes. Yes m’lord it is. I always forget that part,” Davos replied a little bashfully. “I wasn’t born to it like most. Stannis raised me up and made me a knight, but when I was your age I was catching the first ship I could find that would take me out of Flea Bottom, a bit of King’s Landing that a young man such as yourself would be wise to steer clear of.”

“Flea bottom?” Jared interjected as he walked up next to Jensen and removed the helm of his armor. He tucked it under his arm and ran a hand through his hair, trying to bring it into some semblance of order. “Is that right? I’m from Flea Bottom, m’lord.”

Davos got one glimpse of Jared and his eyes looked like they were set to pop out of his head. “I-it’s not possible,” he mumbled.

“Ser?” Jared replied, looking confused.

Davos blinked several times and squinted up at him. “Lord Renly?”

Jensen realized the poor man’s confusion. “My apologies, Ser Davos. I should have introduced you both properly. This is Ser Jared Waters of the Hollow Hill, my greatest friend and the most loyal of my knights.”

“Waters?” Davos repeated, still staring at Jared.

“Yes, ser,” Jared confirmed. “I’m a bastard born of King’s Landing so I carry the bastard’s name. Like you I was raised up to knighthood, but not so long ago I was a simple armorer’s apprentice. I grew up in the slums of Flea Bottom just as you did.”

Davos nodded his head, seemingly trying to collect himself. “I’m sorry, it’s just that you look so much like Renly, may the gods rest his soul. But you wouldn’t be his bastard would you? Renly…he wasn’t known for carrying on with the ladies.”

Jensen felt his ears flush and forced himself not to look at Jared. He cleared his throat before he spoke to make sure he didn’t give himself away. His instincts and his years of training told him that Davos was a man who could be trusted but he wasn’t about to share _that_ with him. “No, Ser Davos,” he said quietly. “Not _Renly_.”

Davos looked from Jensen to Jared and back again as the realization dawned across his face. “King Robert,” he said in a hushed tone as if the dead king might overhear them. “But that means-“

“Nothing,” Jared interrupted him firmly. “It means nothing. A bastard is a bastard whether your father is a king or a cook. Believe me, I would have preferred the latter for all the trouble that the other has brought me.”

“I’m sorry for your troubles lad, but believe _me_ it will matter to Stannis,” Davos replied anxiously. He turned to Jensen. “If you would, m’lord, please instruct your men to wait here while you and Ser Jared come along with me. I think his lordship should see you both right away.”

~~~

Jensen and Jared followed Davos into the main hall which was guarded on either side by four armed men. At the far end was a dais with a large wooden table covered with papers, quill, candle, and ink. Seated among the detritus was Lord Stannis himself, studying the lines of a large map. His face was long and his expression severe. Jensen remembered his mother once telling him that in all her years she’d never seen the man smile. Seeing him now in the flesh, Jensen couldn’t imagine his features could produce one even if they tried. Standing just behind his chair, by his right hand, was a woman dressed from head to toe in red. Even her hair was a blood red hue. As soon as she looked up and saw them enter she recoiled a bit like a snake does when it feels it’s under attack. Jensen took notice of her movement and read it as confirmation that at least one person in Stannis’s entourage knew about the plot to hunt Jared down.

“Pardon me, m’lord, but your guests have arrived,” Davos announced, with Jensen and Jared trailing close behind him. He came to a stop directly in front of the dais. “May I present, Lord Jensen Stark-“

“Yes, Lord Jensen. Of course,” Stannis said, cutting Davos off as he stood to greet them all. “And who is this that you’ve brought with you.” His cool grey-blue eyes were focused intently on Jared.

“I think you know, m’lord,” Jensen replied, gauging the other man’s reaction. “Or can you not recognize the family resemblance on his face for yourself?”

Stannis scowled angrily. “He’s no family of mine. Just another one of my brother’s drunken mistakes.”

Jared’s hand went to the sword on his belt but as soon as he loosed it the woman in red screeched for the guards. The four of them drew their swords and pointed them at Jensen and Jared, surrounding them on all sides. Jensen drew his sword as well and Jared crouched by Jensen’s side into a fighting stance, ready to take on all oncomers.

“Stop! You take no orders from that witch. Only your king,” Davos roared, calling the men to a halt. “M’lord please, what is the meaning of all this?”

“Is this how you treat your guests, Stannis?” Jensen taunted. “I thought you asked me here to talk allegiances. Not to threaten me and mine.”

“I have no quarrel with you, boy. I asked you here in good faith,” Stannis replied. “But I’d like to know how you came upon the company of that man there that you’ve seen fit to bring before me unannounced. Especially since by all rights he should be dead.”

Jensen shot a quick glance at Jared, confirming that he’d caught it too. Stannis didn’t know their connection, which meant that although he might have ordered the kill on Jared he hadn’t been the one to specifically select Jensen to hire. That left only one possible option.

“I think your companion there could help you with the answer to your question,” Jensen suggested.

Stannis turned to look at the woman in red by his side. “Melisandre, explain yourself,” he ordered.

“It’s his fault, your grace,” the woman said, nearly spitting out the words in disgust. “Your supposed ally that stands there in front of you is a vile betrayer.” She sneered down her nose at Jensen. “This wolf is not your friend, my king. Before he returned north he was living as a Faceless Man. A bloodthirsty assassin. When I learned of this I sent a man to hire him because you wanted the best and I thought the infamous Blade of Winter was man enough to finish the job he’s given. I thought that he would honor his responsibilities to the true lord of House Baratheon, but this cur went back on his word. That is why the bastard boy still lives and how he has managed to evade our grasp until now. He’s been protecting him!”

“You knew all this and you kept this from me?” Stannis shouted at her.

“Only to protect you, my king,” Melisandre answered smoothly. “I know that unfortunately you still need Winterfell’s strength to retake your throne. I had hoped to reason with Lord Stark in person. Remind him of his fealty to you, the one true king of Westeros. I never dreamed that he would dare to bring the man here and parade his disgrace about for all to see.”

“Is this true, m’lord?” Davos demanded in outrage. “Did you order that red bitch to have your own kin slaughtered?”

“I did what was necessary,” Stannis muttered, sounding less than confident now that his dealings had been exposed to the light of day.

“You may call it slaughter if you like, Ser Davos,” Melisandre told him haughtily. “The king was wise enough to understand that in order secure his power sacrifices must be made.”

“I am no man’s sacrificial lamb,” Jared snarled at her.

“Enough!” Stannis shouted, slamming his fist down on the wooden table. “This ends now. Jensen Stark, I command you to honor your allegiance to this House. It was I who restored your home, your mother, and your brother. Fulfill that debit to me and do my bidding now or my men here will do it for you.”

“And if I refuse?” Jensen asked with deadly calm. “Will you have them kill me next?”

“Don’t do this, my lord!” Davos pleaded with Stannis. “If not for your nephew’s sake or for Lord Stark’s, then for your men. If you harm their lord the northerners will rain war down upon our heads.”

“Think hard, Stark,” Stannis said, ignoring Davos now entirely. “Think about your future and the future of your family before you make any rash decisions.”

Jensen didn’t have to think. Jared _was_ his family. There was no future without him.

“Order your men to hold,” Jensen said to Stannis. He took a step away from Jared and leveled his blade at him as calmly as if Jared was just any other soldier. “Tell them to lower their swords and stand down. I intend to honor my duties to House Baratheon but I will do so man to man.” He sent Jared a silent look, hoping that his eyes would say what he couldn’t afford to with so many enemy swords aimed their way. _Trust me._

As soon as the soldiers had dropped their guard, Jensen planned to go for the knife in his boot. He figured that if he had a blade in each hand he could be twice as deadly and he and Jared would have that much more of a chance of getting out of this alive.

“I’m glad you’ve decided to be reasonable after all.” Stannis gave them the order and as his guards lowered their swords and took a step back, one of them also removed his helmet.

Jared caught sight of the soldier’s face over Jensen’s shoulder and seemed to momentarily forget everything else. “You!” he shouted at the guard. “It was him!” he said to Jensen. “He was the fifth rider who attacked us.”

The man smirked. “Yes. And yet again, no.”

That voice. Jensen would have known that voice and that peculiar accent anywhere. “Jaqen?”

“Hello again, lovely boy,” he said. “The God of Death sends me with a message to you, his most worthy disciple. He says, _not today_.”

The man grinned wider and passed his hand once over his face. This was the trick that gave the Faceless Men their name and made them the ultimate masters of disguise. In the blink of an eye his features morphed from the wide nondescript face of Stannis’s guard to that of Jaqen H’ghar, Jensen’s former mentor within the House of Black and White. He was the reason that Jensen had first travelled to Braavos when he escaped the Hound, and it was under his tutelage that Jensen had become the fierce assassin that he had. The fact that he was here now was a complete shock.

Melisandre began to pray frantically to R’hllor the Lord of Light to protect her.

Stannis’s guards jumped back in surprise. “What black magic is this?” one of them cried. “What happened to Smythe?”

“This,” Jaqen said. He shoved his sword through the man’s neck with a spurt of blood. “A man had need of his face for a while.” He pulled it free and the dead guard dropped to the floor.

“Kill him!” Stannis shouted.

The two other soldiers attacked Jaqen, half-terrified of what they’d just witnessed and with good reason. They were hopelessly outmatched. Jared made a move to help Jaqen but before he could even enter the fray it was done. With one seamless motion, the assassin had sliced his blade across one man’s throat nearly chopping the head clean off, and then swung it down under his arm with enough force to stab the guard standing right behind him in the gut. Blood poured from their wounds out across the stone floor.

Davos drew his sword, prepared to fight and die next if he was ordered to.

Stannis began to shout for more guards. For Davos to kill the intruder. To kill them all.

He was still in mid-sentence when Jensen reached down, plucked out the dagger he kept hidden in his boot, and hurled it through the air with all his might.

It struck Stannis square in the chest, knocking him backwards. He sat down hard in his chair, his eyes rolling back in his head in pain and in shock.

“No!” Davos cried out. “My lord!” He rushed to Stannis’s side who was making sick burbling noises as the life slowly drained out of him.

Meslisandre screamed and attempted to run for her life.

Jared ran after her, easily catching up to her with his long strides before she could escape. He hooked one arm around her waist and dragged her back to Jensen with his sword held snugly against her neck. “What should we do with her?”

Suddenly a thunderous pounding and muffled shouting started up on the other side of the thick double doors to the hall. The soldiers that Stannis had been calling for had apparently arrived, albeit too late.

Before Jensen could respond, Davos lunged forward with his own sword and shoved the point of it up under her ribs. He yelled wordlessly at her in a fit rage she gasped and slumped down out of Jared’s grip, crumpling to the floor. Blood bubbled on her lips as she tried to draw her final breath through a punctured lung.

When Davos pulled back his sword and straightened up, Jared was poised to attack if he came after one of them next. Jensen put a hand on Jared’s shoulder to put him at ease, sensing that the man was no threat to them. His anger had already been spent on its proper target.

“Kill me if you must, m’lords,” Davos said, breathing heavily as he started to come down from the sudden rush of the moment. “I couldn’t suffer that red bitch to live another second. She’s had it coming for a long while. Stannis was a good man before she twisted his mind. A hard man, that’s for certain, but fair and just. He never would have muddied his hands in this kind of evil without her influence. I’ve known it would end badly since she sent that demon out to kill Renly. I suppose I had myself convinced that he might yet be redeemed somehow. But that’s all over now, isn’t it?”

The pounding on the other side of the door grew louder.

Jaqen was calmly wiping the blood off his sword on the pant leg of one of the dead man’s breeches, as if he did this sort of thing every day and was now bored with the whole affair.

Jensen looked over to where Stannis sat limply in his chair, the dagger still logged in his chest. The wound was a mortal one. Jensen knew that as soon as he pulled the blade free Stannis would die, but for the moment he could still hear the harsh wheeze of the man’s breath as he clung to life by the thinnest of threads.

Just then the light caught a glint of gold amidst the mounds of paper on the table. Stannis’s official seal. Suddenly Jensen had an idea.

“Ser Davos, as far as I can see you’ve been nothing but loyal to House Baratheon. I wasn’t lying when I said I intended to fulfill my duties to them as well,” Jensen assured him. “I cannot in good conscience kill a man such as yourself. Instead, I’d like to give you the opportunity to continue your service and help me protect what’s left of it. We start here with Ser Jared, King Robert’s natural-born son and Stannis’s last remaining nephew.”

Davos looked warily at Jensen for a moment. Then his eyes darted over to Jared. “What do you need me to do?” he asked them.

“Go out there and calm those men down before they break in and tear us apart,” Jared told him. “They’ll believe you if no one else.”

Davos nodded numbly and resheathed his sword, hiding the bloody blade inside it’s scabbard. He went to the longhall doors and took a moment to steel himself before he shouted through them like an outraged father scolding his children. “WHAT’S ALL THIS RUCKUS?”

Immediately the pounding stopped. He unlatched the doors and opened them just wide enough for him to slip through. Before he closed them again behind himself, Jensen heard him say, “Now which one of you wants to start explaining to me why you’re all here disrupting King Stannis’s audience with his guests?’’

As soon as the door was safely shut, Jensen ran up to the dais and began searching for a blank sheet of paper.

“Jensen, what are you doing?” Jared asked. “We need to get out of here.”

“In a minute. First I need to right one more wrong.” He found what he was looking for and began to write. As he wrote, he read the words aloud:

 _I, Stannis Baratheon - the First of My Name, King of the Narrow Sea, King at the Wall, Lord of the Stormlands, Lord of Dragonstone, Lord of Storm’s End, and Head of House Baratheon – do by this document officially declare that Ser Jared Waters of the Hollow Hill is the natural-born son of my brother, the late Robert Baratheon – The First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. Ser Jared Baratheon as he shall henceforth be called, is to be recognized as my nephew and the legitimate heir of House Baratheon, with all the rights and privileges which that station duly deserves_.

“Jensen, you can’t just do that!” Jared exclaimed. “Jaqen, tell him!”

Jaqen just looked at Jared and shrugged as if it was no consequence to him either way.

“It’s alright, Jay. It’s just a piece of paper,” Jensen told him.   “It doesn’t change who you are. It will just help everyone else see what I already do.”

For a moment Jared just looked lost and overwhelmed, almost like he had so many years ago when Jensen had first met him. So much had happened to that big lonely boy with the sad blue eyes since then. He’d become a good man, a proud warrior, and a noble knight. Now Jensen was asking even more of him. To believe that he could be more than he ever imagined he could be – the Baratheon prince. Finally, Jared collected himself said the words that Jensen wanted to hear most. “I trust you.”

For a fleeting moment Jensen wished that they were alone so that he could show Jared just how proud of him he really was. However, he had much more important business to attend to first. Jensen turned his attention to what was left of Stannis Baratheon and prepared to grant the man one final act of redemption.

“Dying can be a slow business, my lord,” he said. “Do the right thing and help me now. Soon as it’s done, I’ll help speed you along your way.” Jensen took the quill and fit it to the man’s hand, pressing his limp fingers around it. Gently, he guided the mostly dead lord to sign his name.

Stannis did not resist him.

When the document was signed, Jensen dripped a puddle of candle wax at the bottom and fit the golden seal of House Baratheon to the palm of Stannis’s hand, helping him seal it into the wax.

Again, Stannis did not resist him.

Finally, Jensen carefully folded up the document and tucked it safely inside his shirt. “Thank you, my lord.” Then he took a firm hold of the knife in Stannis’s chest and wrenched it free in one quick motion. Blood spewed forth from the wound in a great gush, taking the man’s life with it in the span of a few heartbeats.

“Alright,” Jensen announced. “Now we can go. Jaqen, you’re more than welcome to come along.”

“A man has seen his mission completed, lovely boy,” Jaqen replied. “The God of Death is satisfied, which means it’s time for us to part ways one more time.”

“That’s really why you came all the way here to help us?” Jared asked

Jaqen smiled at him like he was an especially slow student. Jensen had seen that smile far too many times himself. “A man goes where he is needed. Where his god commands him to go. The message was most clear.  _Not today_.  Your friend here has been begging a reward for his devotion. But he forgot an important thing.” Jaqen looked right at Jensen then, speaking to him as much as he was to Jared. “It is not for him to decide what his reward will be. Death is not his reward.  Not today.   Not yet. There are bigger plans for him. A long life lived in service to others. To his homeland, to his king, and to the people he loves. That will be his reward.”

“Jaqen, I…” Jensen didn’t know what to say other than the obvious even though it was nowhere near enough. Nowhere near even the beginning of enough. “Thank you.”

“You are most welcome, lovely boy.”


	22. Chapter 22

With a lot of help from Davos and a little bit of luck, Jensen, Jared, and their guardsmen were able to leave Deepwood Motte without any trouble.  In fact, they left with the Baratheon soldiers cheering their names. Jared never thought it would have been possible but then again he’d done a lot of impossible things since he’d met Jensen.

The story that Davos told when the bodies of Melisandre and Stannis were discovered in the king’s bedchambers was that he’d gone to see Stannis about some matter with the troops and he’d stumbled upon the red witch red-handed in the midst of murdering him.  She was caught stradding the lord’s prone body and holding a bloody dagger in her hand.  Acting in defense of his king, Davos killed her.  Sadly Stannis’s wounds were too severe for him to have survived the fatal stabbing.  The fact that Melisandre had been Stannis’s paramour was well known so when Davos painted her as spurned-lover-turned-murderess everyone believed him without question.

Then it was announced that part of Jensen’s mission in coming to Deepwood Motte was so that he could present Jared before Stannis to legitimated as his heir. The document with Stannis’s own seal and his signature was proof of it. To the Baratheon soldiers it was a huge balm to their grief that at least the noble house of their sworn lord would be able to continue with a strong leader at its helm. Davos himself placed the stag-horn crown on Jared’s head at the impromptu ceremony with Jensen standing by his side. From now on, he would be known as King Jared of the House Baratheon - First of his name, King of the Andals and the First Men, King of the Narrow Sea, King at the Wall, and Lord Protector of the Stormlands.

Stannis was survived by his wife, Selyse, and his daughter, Shireen, who were both leagues away in their castle at Dragonstone. Selyse was even more sour-faced and stern than Stannis had been if that were possible and her own people had little love for her. She was a fanatically pious woman who had her own brother burned at the stake as a sacrifice to the Lord of Light. Shireen Baratheon on the other hand was still a young girl of eleven years and few outside of Dragonstone’s black stone walls had ever actually laid eyes on her. As a small child she’d contracted the grayscale disease which consumes the flesh and turns a person’s skin grey and lumpy like day old porridge. The left side of her face and her torso had been deadened by it. It almost killed her when she was a baby but by some miracle she survived. Still it left her weakened and sickly, a condition which wasn’t helped by the fact that her mother kept her locked away from sight in a high tower room by her lonesome. The only visits she ever received were from Davos, who looked in on her when he could, and from Patchface the court jester. The maesters had proclaimed that she would never bear a child. Because of that and because of her deformity it was widely thought that she’d never marry. Her and her mother would both need someone to look after their well-being now that Stannis was dead.

As Stannis’s new official heir, the business of what do to about this and many other things fell to Jared. He had never had this kind of responsibility on his shoulders before. Initially, the decisions he was now faced with were so intimidating to him that he didn’t think he’d be able to handle it all. Thankfully Jensen was there to guide him through those first few trying days.

Together they crafted a letter to Selyse to tell her of her husband’s death and assure her that she and her daughter would be cared for under Jared’s leadership. Davos would be delivering it to her personally. In thanks for his invaluable help and his loyalty, Jared appointed him castellan of Dragonstone. It would be his duty to command the Baratheon fleet which was stationed there and to make sure that Shireen was protected from the mad zealotry of her mother. Jared insisted that she be raised like any other proper lady of the realm, not secreted away in shame. Davos couldn’t have been happier with the arrangement as he already doted on the poor lonely girl as if she had been his own daughter.

The question of what Jared was planning to do with his new power as king was slightly more complicated to answer. He had no intention of taking up where Stannis had left off. Thanks to his humble upbringing he’d never developed the ego for it or the greed for that kind of power, despite the fact that he had royal blood in his veins. He didn’t want anything to do with yet another battle for the Iron Throne. Firstly, because he didn’t want to live out the rest of his life in King’s Landing so far from Jensen. Secondly, because he knew instinctively that the matter was already a foregone conclusion. Even if he had wanted to take the throne he didn’t have the necessary forces to do it. He’d have to ally with people like the Tyrells or some other ambitious noble house that was likely to be equally as untrustworthy. No, it was either going to be Aegon Targaryen or Daenerys. There was no sense sending men to die for a cause born of vanity that in all truth was already lost.

When Jared added it all up in his head strategically he didn’t believe that Aegon Targaryen would have much of a chance against his aunt Daenerys. She had highly trained warriors on her side that fought because they had a passionate devotion to her, not just because they were paid to like Aegon’s were. In every city she went through her reputation preceded her for freeing slaves, caring for the poor, and helping to improve the life of her subjects. Plus, the damn woman had dragons. Because of all that, the commonfolk would be with her. And because of all that, even Jared himself couldn’t deny that of all the possible contenders to the throne she was probably the most fit to rule the Seven Kingdoms.

While the Targaryens sorted themselves out he intended to rule peacefully over the lords of the Stormlands and their allies in the North. That way he could safeguard his people and help them rebuild from the long hard years of war. However, he still had to decide what to do with his newly inherited army. He didn’t have an immediate plan for his men but he couldn’t just leave them all at Deepwood Motte without leadership to keep them in line either. He’d seen what kinds of trouble a bunch of bored soldiers could cause and the last thing he wanted was to unleash legions of them upon Jensen’s countrymen. Until he figured out what exactly he was going to do with them he decided that he needed to keep them close by. That’s how Jared found himself approaching the great stone gate of Winterfell with Jensen leading the way and the entire Baratheon army bringing up the rear.

As soon as they entered the castle grounds Rickon came running towards them with a huge smile on his face. “Jensen! Ser Jared! You’re back!”

Jensen swung down from his horse and ruffled Rickon’s hair. “It’s not Ser Jared anymore, Rickon. It’s _King_ Jared.”

Rickon’s eyes went as wide as saucers. “King?”

“We’ll explain later,” Jensen told him. “Right now we need to go tell Mother to have the kitchen staff start preparing a feast. There are a lot of hungry soldiers to feed.”

Rickon nodded, still half paralyzed in awe. He stared for a minute past Jensen at the long grey line of troops marching up the road behind them before he scampered up the stone steps into the castle keep. Jensen handed his horse off to one of the stablehands, sent Jared a little wave, and followed after him.

Meanwhile, Jared busied himself with organizing his men. He met with all of the lords and their knights who had been loyal to Stannis and who led his footsoldiers. He knew that a lot of them might be wary of him because of how abruptly he’d taken over after his uncle’s death but he was determined to show them that he was a leader that they could trust because he was just like them. He understood their problems and their concerns because he’d faced the same things himself as a knight in the Brotherhood. Jared knew that although he’d inherited the rights to command their loyalty he wasn’t going to earn their trust overnight but he hoped that seeing him making an effort would be a good first step towards that goal.

By the time he was finished overseeing the setup of his soldiers in their encampment around the walls of Winterfell it was already getting late. He was on his way up to his room to change his clothes and wash up for the welcome feast when Jensen caught up to him on the stairway.

“Jared, wait,” Jensen said.

Jared stopped even though he was sweaty and gritty and anxious to get into a nice hot bath. “What is it?”

Jensen looked around to make sure that no one was around, then leaned in close enough that Jared could smell the clean smell of soap on his skin. “Come meet me in the godswood by the heart tree after the feast is over tonight,” he whispered into Jared’s ear. “I have a surprise for you.”

A shiver of excitement skittered up Jared’s back. “I’ll be there.”

Jensen drew back slowly, his lips tantalizingly close for the span of few heartbeats. One. Two. Three. Then he turned away with a coy little smile on his face and went on his way towards the great hall.

Jared watched him go, marveling at how quickly and easily Jensen was able to make him forget about all of his cares and his worries. For the entire ride to Winterfell he’d been thinking about what he was going to do next and how his relationship with Jensen was going to figure into it. As king and the new head of House Baratheon he was going to have many challenges ahead of him and there was no one he wanted more by his side through the inevitable trials and tribulations. Jared had a plan formulated in his mind and the first step involved giving Jensen a surprise of his own.

~~~

The feast was a riotous celebration such that the grey stone walls of Winterfell had not seen in a long time. It was a homecoming for Jensen, a welcome for their Baratheon guests, and a grand coronation banquet for Jared all rolled into one. The great hall was filled to the brim with people - lords, ladies, knights, and their most loyal soldiers. They had whole roasted hogs on spits, kidney pies, venison steaks, smoked river trout, pickled eggs, turnip greens, baked apples, boiled potatoes, soft cheeses, thick slabs of dark bread, and enough ale to fill a river. Candlelight danced from the heavy iron chandeliers and the colors of both houses decorated every free surface. Men alternately laughed, argued, sang, and then laughed some more. Every single serving girl that scurried between the long wooden tables had at least one drunken marriage proposition before the fourth course. Rickon was humming along to the music as he tore into his food with gusto and although Catelyn wore a heavy veil that covered her disfigured face there was a contented smile in her eyes. Noble lords and humble knights alike were treated like kings and the new king himself raised a glass with them like he was one of their brothers. Jensen watched them all over the rim of his cup but his mind honed in on only one voice in the crowd.

Jared was radiant that night. A sun god lending warmth and light to everyone in his orbit. His long dark hair was left unadorned but from his shoulders hung a cloak of spun gold that made him look just as regal as a crown would have. His nobility might not yet sit comfortably with him but no one could dispute that he was every inch a Baratheon. He was a vision of the strong young warrior that his father King Robert had once been but with Renly’s easy charm tempered by a touch of Stannis’s more practical nature. Jensen sensed that anyone who might have been holding any reservations about him was going to be completely won over before the night was through.

Finally Jared called for silence, thumping his fist on the table to grab everyone’s attention over the din. “My lords, my ladies, I’d like to offer my thanks to House Stark for their hospitality and their continued support. I might never have been reunited with my father’s people had it not been for the kindness bestowed upon me by Lord Stark and his family.” Jared’s gaze zeroed in on Jensen. “In gratitude for his loyalty and in recognition of the treasured alliance between our two houses, I wish to bestow upon Jensen Stark the title and office that his noble father once held in service to my own. Please rise, Lord Stark.”

Jensen was completely caught off guard. They’d never talked about this. Not once. Almost without thinking he rose from his chair, a little unsteady on his feet. He saw what Jared was about to do and yet he couldn’t believe it was happening. At quick glance at his mother and the tears shining in her eyes told him that she understood the significance of the gesture as well.

Jared raised his goblet. “I hereby name you, Ser Jensen Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, as the new Hand of the King.”

The crowd erupted into a chorus of hearty cheers, none louder than Jensen’s own guardsmen. Their voices roared in his ears as his family looked to him with pride. It was a great honor and one that he never would have imagined for himself. He only wished that his father were still alive to see it. There weren’t many things he’d done in his life that Ned Stark would have approved of but Jensen thought that this might have made the stoic northman smile.

Jared was grinning at him like the sentimental fool that he was. “Do you accept, Lord Stark?”

Jensen opened his mouth to speak but the words couldn’t seem to get past the lump in his throat. Aware that all eyes were on him, he started again. “Happily, Your Grace. Thank you. Thank you, it would be my honor.”

There was another outpouring of cheers and shouted congratulations. But as far as Jensen was concerned there was only Jared. Sweet, wonderful, handsome Jared. Who’d known without being told what this would mean to him and especially to his family after being brought so low by betrayal after betrayal. As his Hand, Jensen would be his primary advisor and revered as his second-in-command. His place would always be by Jared’s side and no one would ever question it. What Jared had essentially done was to find a way to play by all the same old traditions and still cement their future together. He was nothing short of amazing.

Jensen picked up his cup and raised it high above his head. “Gods save the King!” he cried.

“Gods save the King!” the entire hall responded joyously. “Gods save the King!”

Jared saluted them all with his wine and took a sip. His lips came away red. He licked the flavor from them as he called for the musicians to start up a tune.

Jensen couldn’t wait until they were alone so he could taste them too.

~~~

It wasn’t until the dark hours of morning that Jared heard footsteps snapping through the snow-frosted crust of fallen leaves and knew that he was no longer alone. He’d been waiting under the heart tree in the godswood just like Jensen had told him, a tall thick weirwood with a face carved into its trunk. The northmen believed that the First Men had carved them there so that their old woodland gods would have eyes to see them with as they prayed. It was a sacred place and the wind that lifted its branches in a gentle sigh carried with it a ghostly air that suggested not all of its ancient power had lived in their imaginations.

It hadn’t been easy to slip away from everyone now that he was a king. The feast was still going even though the guests had thinned out to only a handful of the most stalwart merrymakers. Jared had excused himself to his bedchamber, tossed off his fancy cloak in favor of nice warm wool, and snuck down a back staircase. Thankfully anyone who would have noticed, everyone who probably should have noticed, was either sleeping off the heavy meal or the heavy drinking. It was cold in the godswood but all he could really feel was the anxious excitement in his belly because Jensen was coming.

A second later Jensen appeared, running through the trees with childlike enthusiasm. He stopped short, looking at Jared were he stood underneath the red-leafed branches. “I think I dreamed this,” he said in a hushed tone.  "Or something like it."

Jared didn’t know what he meant by that exactly but he had more pressing things on his mind at the moment that he needed to say first. “Jensen, before you say anything tell me truthfully if you’re alright with all of this. I probably should have told you-“

“Jay.” Jensen cut him off, closing the distance between them in a few long strides. He reached up and pulled Jared in for a kiss like he was drowning and Jared was his only source of air.

They hadn’t had a quiet moment alone since they’d left Deepwood Motte and both of them were feeling every minute of that lost time. Jensen licked into his mouth with purpose, pushing past his lips and into the dark depths between tongue and teeth that still held the sour-sweet taste of the wine they’d been drinking. It was exciting and comforting at the same time in their familiar dance. Any lingering concern that Jared might have had about what change his new status might bring into their dynamic was immediate put to rest. Jensen knew who he really was – the blacksmith boy from Flea Bottom – and he loved him for it.

Breaking contact just far enough to grab oxygen, Jensen curled his fingers into the front of Jared’s shirt. “You didn’t have to do it, you know. There are plenty of people who would probably be a better choice to advise you.”

“Not for me,” Jared told him. “You’re the only one.” He reached behind him for Jensen’s gift which he’d hastily tucked into the waistband of his breeches. He’d been holding on to it for a long time now, waiting for just the right moment to deliver it back to its former master. That moment was now. “I kept this because once I thought it was the only part of you I had left. I’ve never been happier to be proven wrong.” He held it out so Jensen could see it. It was the wolf-handled dagger that he’d made back in his old forge at the Brotherhood camp, the same one that had been recovered from the ashes of the Red Wedding. “I think it’s time you had this back.”

Jensen reached out to touch it, running his fingertips over the shiny Valaryian steel almost reverently. “I never thought I’d see it again,” he said, almost in a whisper. He looked up at Jared in awe. “How?”

Jared thought it was better to spare him the morbid details. “There was a man. A survivor. He came to tell Beric what had happened at the Twins and he had this on him,” he said simply.

Jensen looked down at the dagger, taking it from Jared and turning it to stare at the face of the direwolf carved into it’s pommel. If he understood that Jared was talking about someone essentially scavenging the thing off of his unconscious body then he gave no outward indication of it. “It’s perfect,” he murmered to himself. Then he flipped the blade over and sliced open his palm without so much as a wince.

Jared was shocked to see the slash welling up crimson in his hand. “What are you doing?!”

“You need blood to make a bloodoath, stupid,” Jensen teased, as if Jared was the one behaving irrationally. “This is the surprise I promised you. Now, give me your hand.”

Jared hesitated for a moment before surrendering his palm to Jensen’s dagger. The blade flew over his skin lightening fast. It was over so quick that his brain barely had time to register the pain until it was already over. Jensen pressed his palm into Jared’s and linked their fingers, sealing them tightly. Blood trickled warm and sticky between their joined hands with no discernible difference between which one was supposedly royal and which was not.

“What we have,” Jensen began slowly, measuring the weight of each word on his tongue, “Most people would call it wrong. A sin. So maybe this won’t mean anything and maybe it’s blasphemous to do it here in this holy place but I don’t care. Now that you’re a king there’s no telling what might happen to us or where we might end up.” His bright green eyes seemed to stare right into Jared’s soul. “I figure as long as we make a promise to each other and we keep it then it no matter what changes the world tries to throw our way at least we’ll know that we’ll always have each other.”

Jared’s chest was tight, his heart overflowing with Jensen’s simple words of devotion. This is what he’d wanted since he’d met the skinny little highborn boy who’d turned out to be the love of his life. He didn’t know what to say or how to express all of the feelings that were ready to burst right out of him so he said the only two syllables his mouth seemed to be capable of forming. “Jensen.”

It was just a name but then again it wasn’t. It was the way Jared said it that charged it with so much more meaning. It meant _home_. It meant _family_. It meant _I love you_.

Tears welled up in Jensen’s eyes, threatening to fall. He looked away before they could, stubbornly holding on to his composure. “Shutup,” he said, clearing his throat roughly. “Are we doing this or not?”

Jared nodded, not confident that his voice wouldn’t crack if he spoke.

“Okay then.” Jensen turned to face the heart tree and tugged Jared by the hand until he stood next to him, their hands still clasped together. His abrupt businesslike manner and the sudden seriousness of his expression seemed so ridiculous considering that they were standing in front of a tree with a face on it that a hysterical giggle tried to bubble up through the lump in Jared’s throat.

“What do we do now?” Jared asked him, trying valiantly not to laugh. He wasn’t sure yet what strange northern tradition Jensen was attempting here but so far it seemed unnecessarily formal. And painful. His palm was still throbbing.

Jensen ignored him. “In the sight of the Seven,” he said, addressing the heart tree as if the face of the god in it’s trunk could actually hear him. “In the sight of the old gods and the new, we stand united and seal our two souls with blood, binding them together as one for eternity.”

Suddenly Jared understood. Tears started to blur the edges of his vision making the moment appear that much more like a dream. He recognized those words but they were usually said by a high priest or a septon. Usually in front of a man and a woman who were being married. That’s what Jensen was doing. He was _marrying_ them.

Jensen turned to face him and took Jared’s free hand so that he held them both. “Repeat after me,” he instructed solemnly. “Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, and Stranger.”

“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother…” Jared’s face flushed in awkward embarrassment as his brain struggled to catch up.

Jensen smiled faintly and tried to help him. “Maiden?”

“Maiden,” Jared repeated gratefully. “Crone, and Stranger.”

“I am his and he is mine,” Jensen continued. “From this day until the end of my days.”

“I am his and he is mine. From this day until the end of my days.” By the time Jared finished his cheeks were wet. He didn’t need any prompting for what came next. He yanked Jensen forward into his arms and kissed him, cradling the back of Jensen’s head as he traced his own declarations of love into the soft planes of Jensen’s mouth. It might not mean anything to anyone other than the two of them but it was enough. More than enough. It was everything.

Jensen broke the kiss to wipe the tears gently from Jared’s face. “Love you, Jay.”

Jared smiled, the light of his soul shining almost straight through him to be closer to its mate. “Whatever happened to “Your Grace”? I liked the sound of that,” he teased. “I’m king now, you know. At the very least I think I’m owed a customary “my lord”.”

Jensen rolled his eyes. Then he kissed him again, worshipfully soft. “I love you,” he said again, adding a whispered, “husband.”

Jared rested his forehead against Jensen’s and smiled. “Love you too.”

Less than an hour later Jared was in his bedchambers with the door barred, showing his new husband exactly how much he meant those words.

~~~

Jensen didn’t have the wedding that he once thought he’d have. Not a single member of his family was in attendance and there wasn’t a great feast to commemorate the event. It wasn’t the result of a match that had been arranged for him and it had nothing to do with sealing an alliance. It was so much better. Firstly, it was with a man. A man he was desperately attracted to. And secondly, it was with a man he also happened to be deeply in love with.

He knew that their life together would always be different as well.  No one could ever know the truth about him and Jared or what they really were to each other. Because of that sacrifices were going to have to be made. They could never show affection in public or sleep in the same bed while they were within the castle walls where a servant could easily discover them. They had to always be careful, always be vigilant. But when it was all said and done, those things were really a small price to pay for so much happiness. Jensen was willing to whatever it took.

As long as he had Jared and Jared had him they’d always find a way.

 

~the end~


End file.
